


Echo

by melonpaan



Category: Arashi (Band), Horipro (Agency), Japanese Actor RPF, Johnny's Entertainment, Sweet Power (Agency)
Genre: 2014, Community: je-whiteday, F/M, Gen, ILU Kami
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 22:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3626205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonpaan/pseuds/melonpaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Life is about chances and choices. (For history’s sake, would you please take notice?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Five (We Intertwined)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tinyangl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyangl/gifts).



> Written for [tinyangl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyangl) for [JE Whiteday 2014](http://je-whiteday.livejournal.com/). ♥

> “Soulmates?”  
>    
>  “Yeah.”  
>    
>  “Do I believe in them?”  
>    
>  “Yeah.”  
>    
>  “Hmm, if you’re asking if I believe someone can only find happiness with one other person in the whole entire world…”  
>    
>  “Yeah?”

**_  
  
  
Five (We Intertwined)_ **

He’s standing at the edge of the ocean—the end of the world—and the water stretches before him in endless silver waves. The horizon rounds in the distance, kissed by a golden sun, fiery tendrils seeping into a colorless sky. He squints against the light because there’s something there, something important. He’s sure of that much, but can’t remember what or why or how.  
When he shouts across the ocean, his voice is swallowed by the tide.  
  
_Aiba-kun._  
  
The wind is calling back to him, rippling the water and tingling his spine, rushing over his face like a great, reprimanding sigh. But he can’t leave now, not yet, not without knowing what lies on the other side of the ocean.  
  
_Aiba-kun._  
  
The air smells sweeter. It’s not quite honey-sweet, not really vanilla, not like any kind of fruit he can remember. But it’s a very particular scent, her scent.  
  
“You skipped class again.”  
  
The ocean vanishes, leaving only remnants of the sun burned red between his eyelids. There’s a rustle overhead, a moment, and then the sun, too, disappears.  
  
“So what was it this time?”  
  
He tests his tongue. “Baby rabbits.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“I wanted to make sure the mother would come back.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“She did.”  
  
A great, reprimanding sigh. “I’m glad. But if you miss even one more day of class, they might seriously not allow you to graduate with us.”  
  
“We graduate in three days.”  
  
“That’s three more days of class you could potentially miss. Three more days of class that stand between you and graduation.”  
  
He smiles. “You’re worried.”  
  
“I volunteer once to bring the new transfer student his homework, and I’m stuck babysitting him for the rest of high school. Alas.”  
  
“You would have been lonely in class without me sitting next to you every day.”  
  
“I’m lonely _now_.”  
  
His eyes open at that. “No fair,” he chides, but the smile only stretches wider over his lips, “Maki-chan.”  
  
She’s leaning over him, eyes warm but smile smug, bathed in a halo of dappled sunlight. Her school uniform is impeccable, as always, except for a bit of untucked shirt. He reaches up to pick it loose without thinking. “How did you find me?”  
  
“You’re the one who taught me how to track animals. Look for droppings, right?” She holds up a crumpled packet of Gummi Gum, which she quickly folds into his hand. “It’s wrong to litter.”  
  
“Sorry.” Her shirt pulls loose from the hem of her skirt.  
  
“Nino’s the one who wants an apology. He told me not to waste my time looking for you, but you know he’s probably still out there somewhere, calling and cursing your name.”  
  
“Sorry.” Maki raises her eyebrows. “I’ll go to class tomorrow.”  
  
“Good.” She nods, satisfied, and it’s hard not to feel content with her satisfaction. Even though he still has garbage in his hand.  
  
“Should we head back now?”  
  
“In a bit.” She taps at his side until he makes enough room for her, drops her bag against the tree and smooths down her skirt before lying down next to him, crossing her legs at the ankles. She turns her head a touch, resting it against the crook of his arm, and it takes just this small warmth for him to realize how cold it’s become. He shivers and she presses closer, hair curling over his cheek and tickling his nose and he thinks he’s forgetting something, or remembering something, feels _something_ dancing on the tip of his tongue. Something important…  
  
“Hey, Maki-chan…”

The echo of the ocean.

“Hmm?”

A voice swallowed by the tide.

“What…”

His eyes flitter, flutter—  
  
“What shampoo do you use?”

Shut.  
  
He doesn’t hear an answer. When he wakes, there is no sun and the skies are gray and swirling through the leaves. Maki sits against the tree, nose buried in a book. He cranes his neck to get a better view. An English textbook. It’s no great surprise. He flops his head back down and rolls to the side.  
  
Registering that his head is on her lap _is_ a surprise, and the bare skin beneath her skirt is cool against his warming cheeks.  
  
He shoots up, acutely aware of his hands and where—or more importantly, where _not_ to put them. He jams one into the grass and another into his hair on instinct, but when he feels the crumple of cardboard against his head, he thinks he’s made the wrong choice. “Y-you could have woken me.”  
  
She shuts her book and glances at him thoughtfully. “But you looked so peaceful.”  
  
“That didn’t stop you from waking me the first time,” he accuses, but stands and offers her his garbage-free hand. He leads them out of the thicket carefully, parting tree branches with his free hand so that they don’t touch her. When they reach the sidewalk, he shoots the carton of Gummi Gum into the garbage can under the crossing light, but it’s not till they’re at the stairs of the intersection that he realizes they’re still holding hands. He’s still holding her hand.  
  
He releases her, stares at his twitching fingers and is it just his imagination or is his hand _tingling_? Has it always felt this way, Maki’s hand in his? She doesn’t seem to have noticed anything out of the ordinary, though, prances ahead and hops the steps two at a time before glancing back at him, hands on her hips.  
  
“Hurry up, slowpoke!” Maki calls, smile wide and brilliant and Aiba suddenly remembers why, on these very stairs two years ago, he made an unwitting confession.  
  
“Maki-chan!”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
Something cold hits the tip of his nose and he laughs, giddy and explosive. “I think I like you!”  
  
“Eh?! This again? You mean as fr—”  
  
“No, this time I’m sure!” He raises his arms toward the sky. “As members of the opposite sex!”  
  
Maki’s eyebrows disappear into her fringe and her smile fades into a little, puckered ‘o.’ “Aiba-kun,” she says, just as it starts pouring down on them. “You really are the worst at confessing.”  
  
“Does that mean…?”  
  
“It’s a good thing we’re going to the same college!”  
  
  


> “Then no, I don’t believe in soulmates.”  
>    
>  “Oh.”  
>    
>  “Oh?”  
>    
>  “I was expecting a different answer.”  
>    
>  “What kind of answer?”  
>    
>  “Ah, well, you know. You’re the resident romance maniac, so I figured you’d like all that stuff. Soulmates. Destiny. Big romancy things like shouting declarations of love from the rooftops.”  
>    
>  “I _do_ love those things, romancy things. But I don’t believe romance leads to love. I think true romance comes from love.”  
>    
>  “What do you mean?”  
>    
>  “Like…true romance is when you do the big romancy things because you are so much in love. Because you are so ridiculously and stupidly and unapologetically smitten with someone that every day you wake up and think, _how can I make that person happy today?_ “  
>    
>  “Right.”  
>    
>  “But the idea of soulmates implies something outside of just two people in love, doesn’t it? Like we have no choice in defining our happiness—and our love—because everything has already been, somehow, without our knowledge, decided _for_ us. It makes it seem less…real, you know?”  
>    
>  “Yeah, I think I get it.”  
>    
>  “But you actually don’t.”  
>    
>  “Yeah, not really.”

  
  
“A date at the library again?” Aiba is not whining, and he is most certainly not mustering up his best puppy-dog face of sadness while he’s not at it. Adorable, emotional manipulation at its _not_ finest—Hime and Uran would be proud.

“I—but,” Maki protests, glancing between Aiba and the library before glancing back at him. “ _Exams_.”  
  
“You know I’m just going to spend the entire time looking at you.” He lowers his chin. “I’m telling you the honest truth.” Widens his eyes. “I like looking at you.” And then pouts his lips just a fraction.  
  
She melts. “Ugh. Okay! Stop making Hime-Uran faces at me, I get it! We can get dinner—”  
  
“And watch a movie?”  
  
Maki furrows her eyebrows. “Aiba-kun.” Too far.  
  
“Okay, can we at least watch the last episode of Hana Yori Dango?”  
  
She sighs in defeat. “Okay.”  
  
“Yes!” Aiba whoops, pumping his fist.  
  
“But we’re studying right after—don’t you have a test tomorrow, too?”  
  
“Yes, yes,” he says obligingly, before slinging his arm around Maki’s shoulders and steering her away from the library. “Chinese food?”  
  
“For someone whose parents own an authentic Chinese food restaurant, you sure prefer the cheap American-style takeout.”  
  
“My parents are Japanese, how authentic can their food be?”  
  
“You’re awful,” Maki laughs, swatting him on the shoulder.  
  
“So, General Tso’s chicken and…?”  
  
“Something with vegetables.”  
  
“So, boneless spareribs?”  
  
“Aiba-kun…”  
  
They fall asleep just ten minutes into Hana Yori Dango, but they put up a good fight. Aiba downs his can of soda and half of Maki’s, but somehow can’t stifle his yawns.  
  
“Don’t let me fall asleep,” Maki murmurs just before her head rolls onto his shoulder, hair brushing up against his cheek.  
  
“You’ve been working hard, Maki-chan,” Aiba whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You deserve a break.”  
  
They’re a tangle of limbs on the floor when his roommate switches on the light and _screams_. Aiba jerks awake, foot shooting out and sending his laptop careening across the floor, meeting the wall with an unhappy crash.  
  
“O-oi! Good on you man, but give a guy some notice! At least I hang a tie on the doorknob when Eri—”  
  
“We were just sleeping, Yamapi—”  
  
“Ah!” Maki cries, eyes snapping open. “ _Exams_!”  
  
  


> “Okay, let me put it another way. If soulmates do exist, if there is only that one, single person for you who will make you happy, what happens if we don’t meet them? Does it mean I just have to settle for the first guy to splatter his drink on me?”  
>    
>  “…I know I started this conversation, but that’s not really what your boyfriend wants to hear.”  
>    
>  “Ah, I didn’t mean that I actually think of it as _settling_. But that’s why I know what I have with you is real. Because the happiness we have together wasn’t determined by anyone or anything else. We’re happy, together, because _we_ chose to be.”  
>    
>  “Hmm.”  
>    
>  “But, oh! Sorry! I didn’t mean to go on and on like that. Why did you—you don’t…d-do you believe in soulmates?”  
>    
>  “I…no. I guess I don’t, either.”  
>    
>  “Oh, whew.”  
>    
>  “I heard that.”  
>    
>  “Ahem, so you also don’t believe in soulmates. Go on.”  
>    
>  “Well, I didn’t really think it out as much as you seem to have, but…the idea that a person only has one chance at happiness seems too sad.”  
>    
>  “Mm.”  
>    
>  “Still. I imagine it would be harder with other people.”  
>    
>  “What do you mean harder?”  
>    
>  “Like, I’d have to try harder with other people.”  
>    
>  “So you don’t try at all with me?”  
>    
>  “Exactly!”  
>    
>  “…That’s not really what your girlfriend wants to hear.”  
>    
>  “You know what I mean.”  
>    
>  “…”

  
  
  
“And then Maki-chan forced me to stay up with her aaaaall night to study,” Aiba complains, picking unenthusiastically at his salad.  
  
“Is that why you look so dull today?”  
  
“No, I’m dull because you got me a salad.”  
  
“Just following your mom’s orders,” Sakamoto says around a huge, fleshy mouthful of cheeseburger. Meat juice runs down the sides of his mouth, and Aiba bristles with envy. “So, how did the test go?”  
  
“Um.” Aiba stuffs his mouth with greens and motions an inability to talk with his hands.

“Aiba?”  
  
He crams a tomato quarter in there and shrugs.  
  
“Aiba.”  
  
He nearly chokes in an attempt to swallow the mouthful whole, gags and beats at his chest with his hand after taking a large sip of water. Sakamoto stares relentlessly. “Okay, you caught me. I…may have fallen back asleep after Maki-chan left.”  
  
Sakamoto shakes his head. “Oh, Aiba…”  
  
“I already asked the professor for a retest!”  
  
“And?”  
  
“He said no…”  
  
“ _Aiba_ ,” Sakamoto sighs. “Just how long are you going to float aimlessly around like this?”  
  
“What do you—”  
  
“You’re a math major, right?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Because…?”  
  
“What do you mean because?”  
  
“ _Why_ are you a math major?”  
  
“Because I’m good at math.”  
  
“And?”  
  
Aiba frowns impatiently. “And what?”  
  
“What do you want to do with a math major? What kind of future are you thinking of?”  
  
“Um.”  
  
“What did you write for that career worksheet back in high school?”  
  
He chokes on an olive.  
  
“Man, your mom really won’t be happy to hear this.”  
  
“You don’t actually have to report everything to her, you know,” Aiba grumbles, back to picking at his salad.  
  
Sakamoto smiles tiredly, reaches across the table and ruffles Aiba’s hair with his hand. “I know you’re just a freshman, and it feels like you have all the time in the world, and yes, you still do have lots of time, but if you’re not thinking even a little about your future, you should at least think about what you want to do while you’re here. For instance, have you considered studying abroad?”  
  
“Studying abroad where?”  
  
“You tell me,” Sakamoto shoots back, finishing his burger in two bites. “I went to London in my sophomore year…and it was a pretty amazing experience. I think that’s really where I really fell in love with musical theater. And that’s what’s so great about studying abroad. You can meet new people who can change your perspective on life—even if you’re the type firmly rooted in his own ideas, like I was. And maybe you’ll even find that thing you can be passionate about. So just think about it, okay? If not, you might be left behind…”  
  
Silence.  
  
“Aiba?”  
  
Continued silence.

“ _Aiba_!”  
  
Aiba blinks widely. “Oh, sorry, did you say something? I just got a text from my roommate—apparently he’s the new Hercules in this year’s play because the lead came down with mono.”  
  
Sakamoto frowns.  
  
“Um, what?”  
  
“I just imparted some profound words of wisdom, and you’re ignoring me for Yamapunk in a toga?!”  
  
“Wha—no. Not ignoring. Just. You know. Anyway, about that fascinating thing you just said that I was totally listening to…what was it again, exactly?”  
  
Sakamoto wrinkles his nose. “Uh, uh. No time for that.” He wipes his hands on a napkin and slaps a few bills onto the table. “Gotta run!”  
  
“Where are you going?!”  
  
“Leaving you behind.” Sakamoto grins and sends him a thumbs-up. “I’ve got a date with a goddess named Desire.”  
  
“That’s not even how you say her name!” Aiba shouts, crossing his arms over his chest. “And she’s too young for you!”  
  
Sakamoto just laughs, waves at him over his shoulder without looking back.  
  
  


> “Aren’t great loves supposed to be hard?”  
>    
>  “Back to the romance fanatic are you.”  
>    
>  “Love means staying together through the good _and_ the bad. But it’s the bad stuff that builds character, that brings people closer together, that makes you sure that the other person is in it for the long haul.”  
>    
>  “That’s why I—that’s not what I meant.”  
>    
>  “Then what did you mean?”  
>    
>  “Well…”  
>    
>  “If you don’t believe in soulmates, then what about me?”

  
  
“You _what_?”

Maki blinks at him like she’s surprised he’s reacting to the nuclear bomb she just exploded on his heart. “I got accepted to study abroad in America.”  
  
“America!” Aiba repeats, possibly shouts, before being shushed from all directions of the library.  
  
“Isn’t it great?” She smiles brightly before planting her face back into her books.  
  
“Why didn’t you—”  
  
“SHHHH.”  
  
Aiba clamps his hands over his mouth, bows several times over to a group of particularly murderous girls, before flipping open his notebook and scribbling: _Why didn’t you tell me?_ He shoves it over Maki’s textbook and taps the end of his pen on it. Maki tilts her head to the side to read it, taps her pencil against her chin before writing a reply and sliding the notebook back over.  
  
_I did._  
  
And back to her books. Aiba makes a motion of frustration before taking up his pen.  
  
_When?!  
  
At the start of term. We were walking through the student center and there were flyers for different study abroad programs pasted everywhere. I said I was going to apply to a study abroad program in America. You said you wanted a sandwich._  
  
Aiba vaguely remembers a desire for sandwiches, but that proves nothing. Doesn’t this kind of thing require more time, more actual conversation, consideration? Something? _Anything_?  
  
_So that’s it?  
  
What do you mean that’s it?_ Maki is looking at him helplessly, and he knows it’s because she wants to get back to her studies, because there are always exams and reports and everything else that is more important than him. She wants to study and study and become really smart and successful and leave him behind for America.  
  
_How long will you be gone?  
  
I’m not leaving until the second term of next year. And I’ll only be gone a year from then. Less than a year, even._  
  
When he doesn’t reply, Maki places her hand over his and gives it a gentle squeeze. It’s comforting, but it’s also Maki. The same Maki who brought him his homework so many years ago, who smiled and said she’d like to see him back in school again, that she’d be waiting for his return. Maki, who somewhere along the way carved a permanent place in his life. If there was one thing he thought he could depend on, it was that Maki would always be there, shooting ahead of him, but always, always stopping to glance back and yell, “Hurry up, slowpoke!”  
  
_Didn’t you say you could never do long distance relationships?_  
  
Maki finally looks at him, really looks at him, mouth parted and eyebrows knit. She drops her pencil onto the table. “Aiba-kun…”  
  
“You have no intention of not going, right?”  
  
“I…” She frowns, shaking her head. “I can’t not go. Let’s talk later—”  
  
“Okay,” he says, pushing his chair back with a rattling screech.  
  
“SHH—”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he mutters, standing and throwing his things into his backpack, knocking his chair backwards in an attempt to leave.

“SHHHHH—”  
  
“I’m going, all right?!” he snaps, storming down the hall despite Maki calling after him. He doesn’t know when he starts running, but doesn’t ever stop, runs and runs until his legs ache and he’s breathless and throwing open the door to his room, catapulting himself onto his bed.  
  
His sheets smell like her.  
  
Everything smells like her.  
  
“Aiba? What’s up?”  
  
Aiba stiffens. Of all the times for Yamapi to actually be in the room.  
  
“Aiba-kun, are you ok?” Erika asks softly, piteously, and Aiba bites his bottom lip because he really doesn’t want to be seen like this, especially not by his roommate _and_ his roommate’s girlfriend.  
  
“Everything’s O.K.!” Aiba replies, trying to sound cheerful. “Just tired. Yawn! Good night!” He stuffs his face further into his pillow, but all he can think of is that sweet, not-quite-honey, not-quite-vanilla, no-fruit-on-earth-could-ever-compare scent seeped into his sheets.  
  
“Aiba,” Yamapi tries again, this time prying at his shoulder, and suddenly Aiba is too sad and too tired to fight him, lets Yamapi roll him over to face the ceiling. “A-are you crying?”

“Did something happen?” Erika tries again, placing her hand over his. And he knows he’s being childish, he _knows_ , but he can’t help it. He shakes off Erika’s hand, snuffles loudly, and manages to mutter, “I just need to be alone for a bit,” before shuffling out of the room.  
  
Only he doesn’t know where to go to _be_ alone. He doesn’t know where to go that won’t remind him of her. His favorite convenience store is _their_ favorite meeting place on Tuesdays, when they have a rare matching hour break between classes. They’ve tried every restaurant and café in a three-mile radius on their Friday night food excursions, so those are out, too. He doesn’t even have his wallet, so traveling is out of the question unless he wants to slink back to Yamapi’s and Erika’s twin looks of pity.  
  
He settles for the small courtyard enclosed by the mathematics department. It’s hard to find, and math has nothing to do with her, so when he finally lies down under the lone tree and closes his eyes, he’s too sad and too tired to do anything but fall asleep.  
  
It’s dark by the time he wakes, and it feels like an eternity has passed, like there is nothing left except the scattering of silver stars above. He reaches for them, imagines plucking one loose from the sky, until a movement catches his attention and his hands drop. Maki sits across from him, against the building, eyelids puffy, red, closed.  
  
“Maki-chan,” he calls, reaching for her, resting his hand on her shoulder.  
  
She wakes with a start, eyes widening and then clouding over. “Aiba-kun—”  
  
“How did you find me?” he asks, shaking his head, unable to keep this strange half-smile from curling over his lips. “How do you always find me?”  
  
“It wasn’t easy,” she admits, and it’s the first time she’s ever sounded as lost as he’s felt. They see each other every day, but it’s not the same, not quite, not anymore, and possibly not ever again. Their lives are so much wider than they use to be, so full of things that are just his or just hers and no longer theirs.  
  
“Why didn’t you wake me?”  
  
“I didn’t know if you wanted to be woken.” She smiles, tiny and heartbreaking. “I’m sorry. Aiba-kun, I’m so sorry.”  
  
“No fair, Maki-chan.” Aiba covers his eyes with his hands because they feel wet and he so stupid and immature and still so very sad. “You’re not allowed to apologize first.”  
  
“But I should have talked it out with you more, I should have—”  
  
“No, no, stop.” Aiba slumps down against the wall next to her and takes her hand in his. “I’m the one who got upset even though I never listen. I just—I’m going to miss you so much.”  
  
She squeezes his hand and moves her head just a touch, resting it against his shoulder. “I’ll be back before you know it.”  
  
“I know.” He smiles, tries to smile, leans his head over hers. But somehow he already misses her.

   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_You are the lighthouse, the seamark  
__The tempests created this tide…_

 


	2. Four (The Artist)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU. Life is about chances and choices. (For history’s sake, would you please take notice?)

**_Four (The Artist)_**  
  
London is everything and nothing Satomi could have imagined. She misses the familiarity of Japan sometimes—dreadfully, awfully misses it sometimes—but carefully seals away her longing when she can help it. How can she miss Japan when she’s living the life so many people could only dream about? An amazing city, a scholarship to one of the greatest ballet schools in the world, yet she still wishes the weather could be a little less gloomy. How selfish!  
  
If she could wish for something, though, on a shooting star or a genie’s lamp, she wishes she wasn’t so late for class. Ms. Esumi will have her head if she’s tardy again, so Satomi races down the streets in rain boots still a size too big because, despite her mother’s faith, she never quite grew into them. She turns the corner and  _jetés_  right over a major puddle to avoid it, only to barrel straight into…into a what?  
  
The impact knocks the wind out of her and she skids across the street before landing on her knees. She barely has time to hiss before something cold drops onto the tip of her nose. When she opens her eyes she can spot her yellow umbrella lying next to an overturned wooden easel and a large beige canvas face-down on the streets.  
  
“Ah—sorry. So very, very sorry!” Satomi blubbers as best she can, in still-broken English, bowing several times while trying inconspicuously to gather her umbrella, lest she get drenched in the coming downpour. Only rain never comes. And when she turns to face the offended artist, who has just replaced the canvas over his easel, she’s looking into the pale face of a young man who looks maybe…  
  
“Japanese?” Satomi starts to ask, means to ask, but before she can really open her mouth he is peering down at her with unblinking brown eyes.  
  
“Hold still,” he whispers in a sweetly familiar tongue, hand warm and rough against her shoulder. Satomi stills, doesn’t even breathe, doesn’t even think as he leans close, closer, so close, before lifting a brush and gently dabbing at her nose.  
  
“That’s just what I needed.”   
  
Satomi blinks, rubs at her nose with the back of her hand, and finds it splotched with gray. He’s already returned to his canvas, and when Satomi peers over his shoulder, she gasps. What was gray on her hand turns into winking silver stars over an indigo sky. Satomi has never seen anything so beautiful.  
  
“What is it?” she breathes, so ensnared with the painting that she doesn’t notice, not for a few minutes, that he is completely ignoring her.   
  
“Um?” She tries again, tapping him on the shoulder, wondering if he might be willing to sell it to her. “Hello?”  
  
He carefully dots one more star on the canvas before glancing back at her. “Andromeda.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“You asked what it was. It’s Andromeda. Cassiopeia. Cepheus. Pegasus.” He looks at her expectantly. “Do you see?”  
  
Satomi squints her eyes, but doesn’t quite. “N-no. I’m sorry.”  
  
He blinks, lifts the back end of his paintbrush and traces a ‘V’ in the air above a cluster of stars in the center of the canvas. “Andromeda. She was the beautiful daughter of Queen Cassiopeia and King Cepheus.” He traces a ‘W’ and a then crooked diamond above. “Because Cassiopeia claimed that Andromeda was even more beautiful than the sea nymphs, the slighted nymphs forced Neptune to send a great sea monster after their kingdom.” He trails a jagged path at the bottom of the canvas. “Cetus. Cepheus and Cassiopeia learned that the only way to stop the monster’s rampage was to sacrifice their daughter, to deliver Andromeda up for Cetus to devour whole. See?”  
  
Satomi squints her eyes trying to see what he sees, trying to paint the vivid scene in her head, but she can see nothing of princesses and monsters. “I don’t see it,” she says at last, sadly. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“I’m hungry,” he replies without missing a beat, although it isn’t quite a reply. He packs up his paints and brushes into a burlap sack, folds up his wooden easel, and sticks the canvas under his arm without looking at her. And then, finally, as an afterthought, adds, “Want to get something to eat?”  
  
“E-excuse me?”  
  
“Food.” He blinks at her. “You eat, right?” His hand catches her wrist, and he measures it with his thumb and forefinger. There’s a sizable gap between the two. “You should eat more—you’re so thin.”  
  
Satomi sniffs, unsure whether to feel affronted or…no, perhaps just affronted. But then sudden globs of water pool at the corners of her eyes because she  _is_  starving and lonely and so very tired, worn to the bone, and now her knees ache and she’s missed breakfast and food with a stranger from Japan sounds almost too wonderful.  
  
He doesn’t say much else, doesn’t look back even once to make sure she is following him, simply maneuvers his way through several winding alleyways and a shortcut through the back of a fruit and vegetable stand. He does this with a sort of graceless ease, despite all of his cumbersome belongings. She trails after him, hiccupping and brushing at her eyes with her sleeves. Eventually they spill out onto a main street bustling with pedestrians and the smell of something  _delicious_  wafting in the air. He stops under the faded awning of what looks like a broken down pub, but before she can decide that maybe food with a stranger—even one from Japan—may not have been her brightest idea, it begins to pour.  
  
“It’s a good thing we got here so soon.” He peers up at the sky. “We mostly missed the rain.” He takes a handkerchief from his pocket—dusty, wrinkled, slightly off-colored—and presses it into her hands. “It got you a bit, though.”  
  
Satomi sniffs. It’s the nicest thing someone has ever done for her and perhaps this alone is what beckons her through the door. The waitress at the front seems to recognize him, because she doesn’t even bat an eyelash as he walks to the far side of the dining area, next to a window that almost measures the floor to the ceiling. The skies outside are swirling masses of gray broken up by thin slivers of silver. It suits him, this mysterious artist.  
  
He orders without looking at the menu and Satomi orders the same because her head hurts too much to think and the smell from the kitchen is tantalizing.  
  
“A-ah!” Satomi says, suddenly aware that it is just the two of them, just her and him, in a booth alone. Together. And she doesn’t even know his name. “Satomi. My name is Ishihara Satomi. And you are?”  
  
It takes him a while, but eventually his eyes stop roaming the skies to land back on her face. “Ohno Satoshi.”  
  
“Oh! Our names match,” she blurts out, before fanning her fingers in front of her mouth. “Ah. I didn’t—I mean.”  
  
Ohno smiles. “I guess our names do match.”   
  
And that’s the end of the conversation. He begins doodling on a napkin with a pen left by the waitress, while Satomi fidgets in her seat. She shouldn’t be here. But the food smells so delicious. Boys bring her nothing but trouble. But he doesn’t seem like the other boys. Her internal battle ends with the decision to politely thank him, but mention that she best be on her way and hope she makes it to class in time for Ms. Esumi to chew her out only a little. But then the waitress drops a giant flaky pie that smells like magic in front of her and hunger wins over reason. She devours every last bite and doesn’t care that some is left on her face. She can wipe it when she’s done.  
  
“Good?” Ohno asks while she’s licking her fork clean of gravy and she nods, content.  
  
“Good. Let’s go.”  
  
“Ah, but the bill?” Satomi says, fumbling for her wallet. He smiles wider and shakes his head.  
  
“It’s already taken care of.”  
  
The sun begins shining anew just as they exit the restaurant, leaving behind two clean bowls and a sea of blue clouds sketched on a napkin.  
  
“Say, what happens? At the end of the story, I mean. Andromeda’s story.”  
  
“Hmm? Oh. Perseus came riding on his winged horse, Pegasus, and saved her.” He turns to her and smiles. “He fell in love with her at first sight.”  
  
  


> “It’s  _really_  unfair to turn it around on me when you don’t believe in soulmates, either.”  
>    
>  “That’s not an answer.”  
>    
>  “Okay, all right, fine. I don’t believe in soulmates, but…”  
>    
>  “But?”  
>    
>  “But to me, you’re…”  
>    
>  “I’m…?”  
>    
>  “A pretty good fit?”  
>    
>  “Hey!”

  
  
Satomi wakes to the smell of freshly baked bread and feels giddy with happiness. She steps out of bed gingerly, feeling with her feet for her slippers, before making her way into the kitchen. There is butter and jelly laid out with the still steaming loaf, as well as a jar of Gohan Desuyo Ohno once procured from who knows where. It reminded him of home, he’d said at the time, but he never opened it in all the days that followed.  
  
She puts on water for tea before buttering a slice of bread and biting into it. It tastes heavenly, and Satomi’s eyes close on instinct, allowing the crusty, flaky goodness to roll over her senses. She polishes off the rest of the slice and starts to butter a second when she pauses in mid-chew, listening. It’s rare that she’s awake before Ohno leaves, so she takes her plate and pads over to the door of the second bedroom. The second bedroom serves as Ohno’s studio, and seems to grow smaller with every passing day. He only ever paints the stars or the skies, and canvases line every inch of the walls, creating a panorama of the heavens. The remaining canvasses are stacked in horizontal rows on the floor. Someday, Satomi thinks, there may be no space at all for his easel, his burlap sack of supplies, and Ohno himself.   
  
“Ohno-san?”  
  
He turns to her and smiles. “Ah, good morning.”  
  
“Good morning,” she replies, and feels her cheeks warm under his gaze. He spends so much time lost in his own thoughts that when he looks at her, really looks at her, his focused attention is almost too much to handle.  
  
“Was the bread okay?”  
  
“Delicious,” she says, popping the last bite into her mouth with a content smile.  
  
“Good.” He makes his way towards her and leans down, lips brushing against the corner of her mouth. “You left some crumbs.”  
  
“Ah!” Satomi squeaks, so surprised that she’s alone in the room before she realizes it. She follows after him and catches him just as he’s putting on his shoes in the foyer. “I don’t have any classes today—only a meeting with my instructor. We should grab some lunch. Where will you be?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Ohno replies, shrugging his sack over his shoulder. “Some place with a nice view.”  
  
“Ohno-san, you’re too mysterious sometimes. How about—”  
  
The teakettle screeches for attention, and Satomi jumps, hurries back into the kitchen to turn off the stove. When she returns, Ohno is already gone, and she’s suddenly not in the mood for tea. “But I wanted to spend my free day with you…”  


 

> “Aha! You’re laughing! Stop pouting—you can’t be mad if you’re laughing!” 
> 
> “I’m not laughing! I’m coughing!”  
>    
>  “That’s a weird cough!”  
>    
>  “That’s a weird thing to say to your girlfriend!”  
>    
>  “It was just a joke to lighten the mood!”  
>    
>  “So I’m not even a pretty good fit?!”   
>    
>  “No, you are!”   
>    
>  “So I’m  _just_  a pretty good fit?!”  
>    
>  “…I can’t win this either way, can I?”   
>    
>  “No, you can’t!”  
>    
>  “At least let me try to explain my original point.”  
>    
>  “No!”

  
  
“You’ve been gaining weight,” Ms. Esumi announces, taking her by the wrist and pinching the skin around it, searching for bones.  
  
“S-sorry, Ms. Esumi.”  
  
Ms. Esumi glances down from her nose at her and Satomi withers on the inside, resolves to have no dinner tonight. Maybe just a little salad. No bread. She’ll tell Ohno she had a big breakfast. And a big lunch since she surely won’t be able to find him, no matter how many times she combs the streets of Covent Garden.   
  
“You may sit,” Ms. Esumi continues in her clipped tone, and Satomi obliges at once. “Satomi,” Ms. Esumi says again so suddenly that she almost springs right back out of her chair. “Do you want this?”  
  
“P-pardon?”  
  
Ms. Esumi sighs deeply, shaking her head. “Satomi-chan,” she says instead, suddenly switching to Japanese. Ms. Esumi’s Japanese intonation is softer, less forced, almost kinder. She’s never spoken to Satomi like this, not in the entire three years she’s taught her. “Do you really want to be a professional ballerina?”  
  
“I—”  
  
“Do you want to attend this school and move on to a career in classical ballet?”  
  
Satomi pauses. “Yes, of course.”  
  
Ms. Esumi tuts. “Do you think just anyone can attend the Royal Ballet School, Satomi-chan?”  
  
“No, ma’am.”  
  
“Only those with true potential are allowed into this school, and to this day I still remember your audition tape. We don’t admit just anyone, you know that, right? We have instructed only a few students from Japan, so I was thrilled when I saw your tape. I saw something the other instructors didn’t, and I fought hard for your acceptance to this school. You were far from perfect, this we all agreed on, but I saw that look in your eyes. The look of someone deeply in love with the dance.”  
  
“I…”   
  
“Satomi-chan,” Ms. Esumi says at last. “I know you love ballet, I’ve known it since your very first day, but somewhere along the way, that spark disappeared. Being in a new country is scary, but you’ve been here for three years already. Nothing should be holding you back. You should know beyond the shadow of a doubt, without waiting, without wavering, whether you truly want this or not. Do you understand me?”  
  
“Yes, Esumi-san.”  
  
Ms. Esumi smiles a little. “I’ve arranged for an audition with the Royal Ballet Company for you next week.”  
  
“Wh-what?!”   
  
“They are short a few dancers this year and wanted to scout some talent early. They asked me for a recommendation and I gave them your name. This Saturday at noon.” Ms. Esumi glances at her pointedly. “I expect you’ll be on time.”  
  
When Satomi doesn’t reply, she adds, “That is all.”  
  
The shock of Ms. Esumi’s news still hasn’t worn off by the time Satomi returns home. She’s shocked, but happy, she thinks. This is what she always wanted, after all, this is her chance to be a ballerina. It would be selfish to  _not_  be happy, right? She sighs, turns the key in the lock and expects to be greeted by an empty room. Maybe she’ll have tea for dinner before Ohno gets back, or maybe she’ll just go straight to sleep, but maybe doesn’t happen because she notices Ohno’s shoes in the foyer.  
  
“Ohno-san?” she calls, slipping off her shoes and entering the apartment. The apartment is dark except for the light from his studio door, so she walks over and knocks hesitantly on the door. “Ohno-san?”  
  
She pushes the door open and gasps.   
  
The room is completely empty save for Ohno, his easel, a wooden stool, and his burlap sack. He is painting in pastels right now, a blur of oranges and pinks on the edges of the canvas. Satomi taps him on the shoulder, alarmed.”Ohno-san? Ohno-san, what happened?! Where are all—”   
  
“I got an offer to paint in Rome.”  
  
She almost falls flat on her face. “H-huh?”  
  
“Rome. I leave tomorrow.”  
  
“O-oh.” Satomi knows she shouldn’t be surprised, knows he’s a roaming artist who never stays in the same country for more than a few years at a time—a few years at most. They started living together because he turned to her one morning and said it would be nice to wake up to her every day, but that never meant he wanted to wake up to her every day  _forever_. But still she thought, she hoped, at least…  
  
“Come with me?”  


 

> “What I mean is—if two people really love each other, should it be that hard? No matter what problems we face or arguments we have, it doesn’t feel like I’m trying. I don’t  _have_  to try. I want to do everything to make sure you’re happy with me because, well, life is just better with you in it. So it doesn’t feel like I’m trying when it’s something I want to do.”  
>    
>  “Hmm.”  
>    
>  “Like, waking up every morning and thinking,  _how can I make you happy today_.”  
>    
>  “Hmm…”  
>    
>  “So, did I pass?”  
>    
>  “…”  
>    
>  “A kiss means I’ve passed, right?”  
>    
>  “Oh, hush. And keep your eyes on the road!”

  
  
“Is this even a decision?”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Satomi-chan, ballet has been your life since we were  _kids_. Attending the Royal Ballet School—becoming a ballerina—isn’t that what you always wanted?”  
  
“I—maybe there’s more to what I want.”  
  
“Like?”  
  
“Um…”  
  
“More than the thing you’ve been doing since you were, what, five?”  
  
Satomi holds her tongue. She knows she’s being ridiculous, she knows what she would be giving up, what’s at stake, but Ohno is…he’s…  
  
A dramatic sigh. “Miitan.”  
  
“It’s been a while since you called me that,” Satomi whispers, a small smile blooming on her lips.  
  
“It’s been a while since I’ve  _talked_  to you. And just after saying hello you drop this bomb on me,” Masami mutters.  
  
Tears are pooling in the corners of her eyes again. For so many months she felt like she was barely hanging on before she could talk to Masami on the phone, and she wonders when it was that weekly phone conversations became monthly phone conversations became complicated arrangements always ruined by time zone differences. How did they grow up and grow apart so fast?   
  
“You’ve decided already, haven’t you.”  
  
“N-no. Not yet.”  
  
“Well,” Masami huffs. “I  _was_  going to go to visit London with a friend this summer, but since you may be leaving tomorrow, I’ll think about planning a vacation to Rome.”  
  
“I didn’t make my decision yet,” Satomi murmurs softly, but she’s not sure she believes herself.  
  
“Satomi-chan?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Whatever you decide, just be happy.”  
  
“I’ll try.”  
  
Satomi hangs up after an extended goodbye, and then walks back to Ohno’s studio. His former studio. The bare walls are unbearably white, clean, as if they hadn’t housed all the stars in the heavens just mere hours ago. Ohno sits, still at work on his last canvas, just beyond her reach.  
  
“Ohno-san?” Satomi calls, wondering if he can hear her, wondering if she has an answer for him. He doesn’t answer, so she walks across the distance toward him, means to tap him on the shoulder, but her hand drops as she catches sight of his painting. He’s still putting the finishing touches on it—a blush of pink on rounded cheeks, the reflection of gold on dark, sweeping curls—but there’s no doubt that Satomi’s own face glows back at her. She doesn’t think she’s ever looked so beautiful.  
  
“Do you like it?” Ohno asks, and Satomi is so startled she almost falls over, but he catches her by the wrist and seats her neatly on top of his lap. “I thought I should paint you at least once, if it’s the only chance I get.”  
  
“I…”  
  
“Do you like it?”  
  
“Yes,” she says, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her sleeves. “I love it.”  
  
“Is it raining again?” he asks, and Satomi thinks of Andromeda, of Perseus, and knows she’s made her decision. She winds her arms around his neck and watches as he gets drawn into his own world again. She’s nodding off against his shoulder before she realizes what time it is.  
  
“Ohno-san?”  
  
He’s lost to her, for now, but she knows he’ll be back.   
  
She uncurls her arms from his neck and kisses him on the corner of his mouth before heading to bed.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_Your solid stage is so necessary to save_  
_all those who have strayed…_

 


	3. Three (Tidal Wave)

> “Ah, isn’t that—it is, it is!”  
>    
>  “What? What?”  
>    
>  “Look over there!”  
>    
>  “I’m  _driving_.”  
>    
>  “Oh, sorry. I forgot…”  
>    
>  “You always do…”  
>    
>  “ _Anyway_ , I can see the tip of the Inubosaki lighthouse from here. It brings back so many memories…”

_**  
  
Three (Tidal Wave)**_  
  
He releases her, stares at his twitching fingers and is it just his imagination or is his hand  _tingling_? Has it always felt this way, Maki’s hand in his? She doesn’t seem to have noticed anything out of the ordinary, though, prances ahead and hops the steps two at a time before glancing back at him, hands on her hips.  
  
“Hurry up, slowpoke!” Maki calls, smile wide and brilliant and Aiba suddenly remembers why, on these very stairs two years ago, he made an unwitting confession.  
  
“Maki-chan!”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
Something cold hits his forehead and he laughs, giddy and explosive. He’s completely forgotten what he wanted to say. And suddenly it’s pouring down upon them and he can’t do anything but run up the stairs, pushing Maki along ahead of him. “We should get out of this rain!”  
  


>   
>  “Memories?”  
>    
>  “Yeah. When I still lived in Tokyo, my parents and I would visit my aunt and uncle here every summer. They live juuust down that road over there. So while our parents were catching up and playing cards, my cousin and I would walk down the shoreline and stay until long after the sun set and the water turned silver under the moonlight. It was what I looked forward to the most every year, the Inubosaki lighthouse at night. It always felt like the current and the heavens were colliding in this one, beautiful place.”  
>    
>  “Sounds nice.”  
>    
>  “Mmhm.”  
>    
>  “Say, I have a story about Inubosaki lighthouse, too.”  
>    
>  “Really? What story?”

  
  
“China?!”  
  
“China.”  
  
“Why China?”  
  
“If I have to run a windshield factory, I’m going to run a windshield  _empire_.”  
  
“B-but what happened to Koshien or bust?”  
  
“Everyone’s got to have a plan B.”  
  
Aiba doesn’t. He doesn’t even have a plan A. “Must be nice.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Having your life all figured out already. You’ve known what you were going to do since you were  _born_.”  
  
“You know most people in my situation spend their whole lives trying to fight against it. It’s not that great to have someone else decide your entire future.”  
  
“It’s better than wandering around aimlessly, feeling like you’ve been left behind by everyone.” It’s a little over dramatic, even Aiba will admit, and he can almost  _hear_  Nino rolling his eyes all the way from Tokyo University. “Really, though. Sometimes it feels like you all already know what you want to do with your lives and I’m stuck here. A math major.”  
  
“I thought you liked math.”  
  
“I’m  _good_  at math—there’s a difference.”  
  
“So why don’t you—ah, damn it Pikachu!”  
  
“…Are you playing Pokemon while your best friend is having a mid-midlife crisis?!”  
  
“Uh…no? I named my Dragon Quest hero, Pikachu, duh.”  
  
“Maki-chan is officially my new best friend.”  
  
“She’s leaving you, too, you know.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
“America. For a year. She said she mentioned it to you.”  
  
“I think I would remember that!”  
  
“No you wouldn’t.”  
  
“You may be right.” Aiba frowns, tries to think back, but draws a blank. “How did you guys even hear about study abroad anyway?”  
  
“You’re kidding, right?”  
  
“Um?”  
  
“There are fliers for it everywhere—pasted on every wall of my school’s student center, even.”  
  
“We don’t have a student center.”  
  
“Aiba…”  
  
“Okay, I wouldn’t know even if we did,” Aiba admits, before frowning. “Wait, so you guys are leaving me behind figuratively  _and_  literally?!”  
  
“If that freaks you out so much, why don’t you just study abroad, too?”  
  
“Where would I go? Where do math majors go?”  
  
“I don’t know. Just close your eyes and point to a destination on a map or something.”  
  
“Oh! Oh! That! I can do that! Here wait one second!” Aiba says, throwing his phone onto the bed and rooting under Yamapi’s bed for a map he bought at the beginning of term because he said it was soulful to hang a map on your wall. Only the off-brand sticky tack Yamapi used never quite stuck, and the poster always ended up a crumpled mess on his bed before he finally chucked it under the bed. “Okay—get ready—Aiba Masaki is going to study abroad next year—in—in—wait for it—!” Aiba smacks his finger down and eagerly opens his eyes. “The Pacific Ocean.”  
  
Nino dies laughing over the phone.  
  
“Hey, the odds were against me, okay! The world is eighty percent water!”  
  
“Seventy.” Nino snickers. “I thought you were good at numbers.”  
  
“Whatever. Maybe I’ll just become a tuna fisherman.”  
  
“There’s no tuna in the Pacific Ocean.”  
  
“How can that—wait, you don’t know that.”  
  
“Nope, I don’t,” Nino admits, laughing harder now.  
  
Aiba frowns, swirls his finger around the map until his eyes spin and cross until they land on… “London.”  
  
“London? London’s cool, but why London?”  
  
“I don’t know…but London does sound cool.”  
  
Aiba finds out just how cool London is during the second half of junior year. London has everything: the sights, the sounds, the smells—the fries. He eats fish and chips for his first five meals in a row and has no regrets. Best of all, he’s not alone. He knows Narimiya Hiroki from philosophy and Matsuda Shota from psychology and the three of become pretty inseparable over the course of the school term. Until both Nari and Shota find girlfriends and the three of them becomes the five of them.  
  
Aiba likes Shihori and Yuriko, and though they try their best to not leave Aiba out, it sometimes has the opposite effect of making him feel like the fifth wheel. Which is exactly how Aiba ends up in Covent Garden early on one Friday morning. Shihori wants see an opera, Yuriko has a macabre fascination for old churches, and Aiba is still not sure why they had to get up this early for either.  
  
“There’s death around St. Paul’s church,” Yuriko murmurs, eyes glazing over as she points to a spot just to the left of the entrance.  
  
“Let’s go take a picture,” Shota replies, popping the lens from his camera and taking her by the arm. They glide off dreamily and Aiba shudders. He really doesn’t understand Shota’s taste in women.  
  
Nari slides his hand into Shihori’s, and Aiba sees the slightest smile bloom over her lips. He turns his head to the side and coughs.  
  
“I’m still hungry, so I’m going to grab some more food. I’ll meet you guys in time for the show!” he says, shooting them a thumbs-up before jogging off in the opposite direction to give them some alone time. He’s heading back towards the stand with the most amazing cheese fries when he bumps straight into something.  
  
Rather, someone.  
  
“Ah! Sorry, sorry!” Aiba says at once in English, one of the few phrases he’s learned not to mess up, bowing his head and pressing his hands together in apology. No answer. Aiba opens his eyes and blinks.   
  
“Wow,” he breathes after a moment, unable to look away. How can he describe it in English? “Very, very nice.”  
  
There’s no answer, just the  _swish swish_  of brush on canvas. Aiba glances at the artist and blinks again.  
  
“Say, are you Japanese?” he asks excitedly.  
  
Silence.  
  
“How long do you have to practice before you get that good?”  
  
Silence.  
  
“I like painting, but I’m not very good at all.”  
  
Silence.  
  
“So, not Japanese, huh.” Aiba frowns, bringing his hand to his chin. “How can I ask what he’s painting in English…”  
  
“…A falling star.”  
  
“Hey, you  _are_  Japanese!” Aiba laughs, before squinting. “It looks like a yellow umbrella.”  
  
“Hmm.”  
  
“You’re a funny guy,” Aiba laughs, slapping him on the back. “What’s your name?”  
  
He looks at Aiba with round, unblinking eyes. “Ohno Satoshi.”  
  
Aiba takes Ohno’s hand, never mind the paint, and grins as he shakes it. “Aiba Masaki. Nice to meet you!”  
  
  


> “So I heard this story from my grandmother, who heard it from her best friend.”  
>    
>  “Uh-huh.”  
>    
>  “When my grandmother’s best friend was just a little girl, she actually lived right around here, too.”  
>    
>  “Oh, where?”  
>    
>  “Uhhhhh, she didn’t say. But it was close by, probably.  _Anyway_ , so when my grandmother’s best friend was a little girl, the lighthouse was still in use. So my grandmother’s best friend’s mother, no wait, her sister—”  
>    
>  “What was her name?”  
>    
>  “Huh?”  
>    
>  “Your grandmother’s best friend. What was her name? Maybe I know her.”  
>    
>  “How should I know?”  
>    
>  “So when your grandmother never told you the name of her  _best friend_?”  
>    
>  “Her name was Ai—baba Ma…nabu?”  
>    
>  “Is this a poor beginning to a ghost story?”  
>    
>  “Wuh—well, maybe? But it’s a good one, trust me. So—”  
>    
>  “Turn the car around.”  
>    
>  “Huh?”  
>    
>  “Turn the car around.”

  
  
“Aiba-kun.”  
  
Aiba stirs just as the crescent of red sun disappears from between his eyelids. He cracks an eye open and grins. “Yo, Maki-chan.”  
  
“You’re going to get sunburned,” Maki tsks, wiggling a bottle of sunscreen over his head.  
  
She stretches out on the sand beside him as he applies the cream over his face and neck. “Good?”  
  
Maki reaches over and rubs at his nose. “Good.” Her thumb is cold against his skin and she’s still dripping wet from a dip in the ocean, face flushed and glowing. “How does it feel to finally be back?”  
  
“I loved it there, but there’s really no place like Japan.”  
  
Maki smiles. “Did your English get any better?”  
  
“Would you believe me if I said it did?”  
  
Maki laughs and shakes her head.  
  
“How was America?”  
  
“America was great!” Maki beams, chattering in her familiar tone and pace and it’s so comfortable, so familiar. His eyes start to flitter, flutter—Maki pokes him in the ribs. “Hey, don’t ask if you don’t want an answer.”  
  
“N-no, sorry. Jetlag.”  
  
“Hmm,” Maki says, nodding without really agreeing. “Ohno-san is nice.”  
  
“He’s an interesting one, isn’t he?”  
  
“You surprised us by showing up with some random guy.”  
  
“ _I_  was surprised. I went to say goodbye, mentioned that I was heading to Okinawa and that I planned to do some fishing here, and suddenly he’s packing up his things and buying a one-way ticket at the airport with me.” Aiba grins slyly. “But hey, I wasn’t the only one who brought someone along.”  
  
He glances out into the ocean, where Masami is dunking Nino’s blond head under water. He doesn’t resurface, and Masami cocks her head to the side, confused, worried, before suddenly being tackled from below and pulled underwater. “What about you?”  
  
“What about me?”  
  
“ _Boys_ , Maki-chan. You must have them lining up for your attention.”  
  
“Haa?”  
  
“Don’t you  _haa_  me. What about Yamapi? Wasn’t there…?”  
  
“Yamashita-kun?” she chokes back a laugh. “I mean, we flirted, sure, but I wasn’t looking for anything serious. Besides, he’s dating Aragaki-san.”  
  
“Ah, Yui-chan? I can see them working well together—but wait! Don’t change the subject! There must be some guy? What about Ryo-chan?”  
  
Maki blinks. “Who?”  
  
“You know, Ryo-chan. Short. Osakan.”  
  
Maki shakes her head.  
  
“Looks kind of like Gachapin?”  
  
“Ohh, Nishikido-kun? Hmm, the last time I talked to him, he asked if he could call me Maki-chan…but I don’t think we ever spoke after that.”  
  
“That was probably his way of confessing,” Aiba mutters, shaking his head.  
  
“Eh?”  
  
“No, nothing. I guess Keiko-chan can make her move now.”  
  
Maki smiles a little, shaking her head. “You’re always so enthusiastically involved in everyone’s life.”  
  
“Are you calling me a busybody?”  
  
“No,” she replies, bumping her shoulder against his. “Just someone who really loves people.”  
  
“I’ll accept that.” Aiba nods, before glancing at Maki suspiciously from the corner of his eyes. “But seriously, not a single special someone?”  
  
“No, no one special. I’m trying to concentrate on my studies, you know that.”  
  
“A waste, Maki-chan!” Aiba groans. “You’re depriving all the young men of Japan!”  
  
“So dramatic.” Maki wrinkles her nose. “What about  _you_? No special someone in London? Just Ohno-san?”  
  
“No there wasn’t—wait, what are you trying to imply?”  
  
“Just that if you were interested in Ohno-san, he seems more interested in someone else.”  
  
“Nino?”  
  
Maki giggles.  
  
“I guess it’s true that taken men are more attractive—”  
  
“Oiiiii!” Speaking of the devil. Nino and his highlighter head races towards them from across the beach, kicking up sand the entire way, tugging Masami along by the hand. “Are you guys thirsty?”  
  
“We’re going to stop by the convenience store,” Masami adds, breathless and rosy-cheeked.  
  
“Yeah, I could use a drink,” Aiba replies, suddenly feeling parched.  
  
“I left my wallet with Kuroki, though—spot me?”  
  
Aiba reaches into the pockets of his capri pants and slips him some money.  
  
“Lemon Tea for Maki-chan, right?” Maki gives Nino a thumbs-up. “Milkis, Aiba?”  
  
“Nah, Lemon Tea for me, too.”  
  
“Roger!” And Nino is off again, giggling away with Masami. He watches them until they are just wavy blurs in the summer haze.  
  
“Hey, want to hear something funny?” Maki asks suddenly, but judging by the look on her face she’s the one bursting to tell him.  
  
“Always.”  
  
“Nino cuts a hole into the lining of every pair of shoes he owns.”  
  
“Huh? What does that have to do with anything?”  
  
“He does it so that he always has emergency money on him no matter where he goes. He owes you 3500 yen since high school.”  
  
“ _What_? Do you know how many drinks I’ve bought him?!” Aiba cries, before relenting. “Well, he was barefoot this time, so I guess it’s okay.” Maki’s grin threatens to crack her face straight in two and Aiba groans. “What else?”  
  
“He also sews a little pocket on the inside of every pair of pants he owns—including swim trunks—in case of emergency.”  
  
“Money-grubbing troll,” Aiba mutters. Maki doubles over in laughter at that, wheezing and wiping away tears.  
  
“You know, you’ve always paid a lot of attention to the things Nino does,” Aiba murmurs without really thinking.  
  
“Have I?” Maki asks, straightening up at once.  
  
“You even went to every single one of his baseball games—even when he was just a benchwarmer.”  
  
“None of his family ever went.”  
  
“That’s it!” Aiba exclaims, pounding a fist into his open palm. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you liked him!”  
  
He expects Maki’s laughter to explode at that, but she just blinks and splays her fingers against her cheeks.  
  
“Ah. Mm, yeah. I used to.”  
  
Aiba gapes. “ _Nino_?”  
  
“Yup.”  
  
“You’re joking.”  
  
“I’m not that funny.”  
  
“But  _Nino_.”  
  
“I feel like you’re insulting Masami-chan now…”  
  
“I just… _why_?”  
  
“Why, you ask,” Maki trails off thoughtfully. She leans back against her arms, raising her head toward the sun. “I don’t know. I don’t think I really thought about it. The first time I saw him, he was playing baseball with his sisters at the park and he was such a tiny little thing. They always picked on him, said someone so small could never go to Koshien, but that just made him work harder. He would stay in the park and practice even after they went home. It was hard to watch his effort and not admire him.” It’s subtle, but Maki’s voice sounds softer whenever she talks about Nino, sweeter, indulgent. Even her face seems brighter. He wonders how he could have missed it. “I don’t actually remember our first meeting, only at some point, the days I knew him outnumbered the days I didn’t.”  
  
“So why didn’t you guys ever…you know?”  
  
Maki blinks and the look is gone. “Who knows? Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”  
  
“That doesn’t sound like the practical Maki-chan I know.”  
  
She laughs and shrugs her shoulders.  
  
“Do you still like him?”  
  
“Wha—?” Maki falls into the sand with a startled thump. “You mean as members of the opposite sex?”  
  
Aiba grins and falls back into the sand with her. “Yeah, like that.”  
  
“No,” she says after a moment. “How silly would it be if I still liked him in that way after all these years?”  
  
“So you would never entertain the thought again?”  
  
Maki purses her lips. “I don’t think anyone should speak with such finality. Life is too unpredictable for that.”  
  
“You think that way about everything?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“Everyone?”  
  
“Mmhm.”  
  
He looks at her, and she is in so many ways the same girl who used to find him hiding away in thickets, chiding him to go to school, but in so many ways not.   
  
“Want me to bury you in the sand?” he asks, eyes twinkling.  
  
“You just need an excuse to sculpt sand boobs.”  
  
“I never  _need_  an excuse to sculpt sand boobs.”  
  
Maki laughs and glances over his shoulder. “Nino’s back. We should get our drinks.”  
  
“Always depriving me of sand boobs, Maki-chan…”  
  
“Hurry up.” She laughs, flicking some sand in his direction. “Slow poke.”  
  
“And a sparkling water for Kuroki, bleh,” Nino says, handing a bottle to Meisa just as they arrive.  
  
“If you don’t want to sleep on the cold, cold beach, you’d do well not to  _bleh_  your hostess’s drink of choice, Nino,” Meisa replies lightly, popping the top of the drink and taking a delicate sip. Nino rolls his eyes, but looks away whistling when she raises an eyebrow at him.  
  
“Ah, Ohno-san, your nose is burnt,” Maki says with a frown. “Do you want some sunscreen?”  
  
“He won’t hear you, Maki-chan. Ah, it’s a lighthouse,” he says, peering over Ohno’s shoulder to his sketchbook.  
  
“He’s been sketching it all day,” Meisa adds with some amusement. “Speaking of which, do you guys know the legend of Cape Zanpa lighthouse?”  
  
When everyone collectively shakes their heads, Meisa grins. “Oh, then I have a treat for you! Okay, so this is a true account I heard from my friend, Yoshiko-chan, whose family has lived here for generations.”  
  
“I’m so sure,” Nino mutters. Masami elbows him in the ribs and nods for Meisa to continue.  
  
“ _Anyway_ , when Yoshiko-chan’s grandmother was a little girl, the lighthouse was always lit up because sailors used to come in and out every day. Yoshiko-chan’s grandmother had a sister, also named Yoshiko, who was engaged to a sailor, but because it was such a perilous job back then, she would come to the lighthouse every day he was out at sea to burn incense and sing a song for his safe return.  
  
“But one day, on the day he was scheduled to come back, there was a fierce, raging storm. Yoshiko-san went to the lighthouse despite everyone’s warnings, stole a rowboat on the pier and rowed all the way over in the storm. She thought that if she could only make it to the lighthouse and sing her song of safe return, her beloved would come home safely as he always did…”  
  
“Then what happened?” Masami asks breathlessly, clutching onto Nino’s shoulders with trembling hands.  
  
“She was never seen again.”  
  
“That’s it?” Nino asks, crossing his arms. “Boooring.”  
  
Meisa glares at him. “I didn’t say that was it. When the sailor returned and found out Yoshiko-san had drowned, he cursed the sea and vowed to bring her back from it. He dove into the depths to find her, but he, too, was never seen again…  
  
“And now, people say that if you listen hard enough by the shore, you’ll sometimes hear a strange creaking noise, like an unpolished hinge…only, the door has been sealed for ages…  
  
“Other times, people have reported hearing a  _boom, boom, boom_ , like the echo of footsteps desperately climbing the stairs to the top of the lighthouse…   
  
“And sometimes, on particularly stormy nights, some people will hear someone singing…singing…”  
  
“Euuugh!” Masami says, ducking her head into Nino’s chest. Euuugh is right. Aiba tries his best to hide the shudder running through his spine.  
  
“Hmm, I thought that myth was about the Inubosaki lighthouse in Chiba,” Maki says, completely unruffled.  
  
“That’s because everyone tells the same ghost story about whatever lighthouse is most convenient, always told to them by a third party first person account to lend it some credibility to susceptible idiots,” Nino cuts in.  
  
“For someone so blasé about ghost stories, your heart sure is beating fast, Ninotendo.”  
  
“Ahn, it’s because you’re holding me, Masachu.”  
  
“Oh, get a room,” Meisa says, fake vomiting to the side. Nino and Masami burst out laughing and Maki shakes her head with a smile.  
  
Aiba laughs, but stops short when he hears a faint  _skritch skritch_. Ohno’s back to sketching again, which means…he had stopped sketching during Meisa’s story? He glances down at Ohno’s sketchbook with some surprise. “Ah, isn’t that Meisa? I’ve never seen you draw people before.” He tilts his head to the side and squints. “What do you call this one?”  
  
Ohno glances at him unblinkingly. “Meisa.”  
  
  


> “A-are you sure we should be doing this?”  
>    
>  “Of course.”  
>    
>  “But this lighthouse hasn’t been used in a long time, right? Isn’t it off limits?”  
>    
>  “We’ll be fine.”  
>    
>  “We just walked through three fences to get to this side of the shore. Not  _around_  the fences,  _through_ …”  
>    
>  “There were holes in those fences for a reason.”  
>    
>  “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”  
>    
>  “What are you so scared of? Scaredy cat. Nya. Nyaaa. What would Hime and Uran say?”  
>    
>  “They would say to get the hell out of here before you get murdered in that lighthouse.”  
>    
>  “We are not going to get murdered.”  
>    
>  “Easy for you to say…the pretty ones always live to the end of horror movies because people like to watch ‘em bounce around. No one is going to want to watch me bounce. I’m doomed!”  
>    
>  “Oh, hush. Okay we’re at the entrance. Knock.”  
>    
>  “Knock?!”  
>    
>  “Who’s there?!”  
>    
>  “…That was a really cold joke.”  
>    
>  “It was  _hilarious_. Now go.”

  
  
“Yo, Aiba, jobless?”  
  
“Is that really how you’re going to start every phone call?” Aiba grumbles, stuffing his face into his pillow. “And anyway I’m not jobless, per se.”  
  
“Being your family restaurant’s delivery boy isn’t not being jobless, per se.”  
  
“Are you calling just to rub it in my face?”  
  
“Yup,” Nino chuckles. “That and I’ve got a job opportunity if you’re interested. It’s only an assistant job, but…”  
  
“I’M INTERESTED!”  
  
Aiba shows up at a Starbucks in the heart of Tokyo dressed in his least rumpled collared shirt, a pair of black slacks, and a matching black blazer. His tie is crooked and he’s a little sweaty, but at least he’s on time. He’s just wondering why Nino told him to pin a rose in his lapel.  
  
He glances around the café until he spots a woman around his age, dressed in a button down shirt and jeans, checking her watch with a scowl on her face. Now what did Nino say his interviewer’s name was…?  
  
“Uhh, Becky?”  
  
She glances up and squints. “Becky-san.”  
  
“Oh, sorry Becky.”  
  
She stares. “Becky- _san_.”  
  
“Yes, Becky-san!” He salutes. Before promptly regretting it. He starts second guessing the idea that it’s just bad luck he  _still_  doesn’t have a job, per se.  
  
“You’re late, Aiba-san.”  
  
“H-huh? It’s two minutes before twelve!”  
  
“You should always aim to be ten minutes early,” she tuts, staring him up and down. “And why are you dressed like you’re going to prom? Didn’t Nino tell you to dress comfortably?”  
  
Of course he didn’t.  
  
“I…um. I’m comfortable?”  
  
She raises an eyebrow. “If you say so. Let’s go.”  
  
“Go? Where are we going? I thought this was an interview.”  
  
Becky blinks. “ _Interview_? I just needed someone to help me run an errand. Masami-chan told me Nino knew someone with a lot of free time on his hands.”  
  
Aiba scrunches up his nose. “They’re made for each other.”  
  
Becky chuckles under her breath before hiding it behind a cough. “Let’s go, we’ll have to take the train.”  
  
He trails after her without another word, removes his blazer and tries to loosen his tie, but instead of falling away clean, the knot jumbles even further. He’s wrestling with it in full force by the time they arrive at the turnstile, elbows high and fingers jammed into every little crevice to untangle it. Becky finally turns around after someone shouts at him to hurry the hell up. Her eyes widen and she gapes. “What the heck are you doing?!”  
  
“Um,” he says feebly.  
  
After he finally gets through the turnstile—she pays his fare because his card is short—she pulls him aside, away from crowds of passersby, and rolls her eyes. “What kind of grown man doesn’t even know how to tie a tie properly? You should be glad this isn’t a real interview,” she mutters, removing his hands from the knotted mess to pick between folds of fabric. After several difficult seconds she growls in frustration and moves her head closer to get a better look. Her hair is in loose, bouncy curls and smells like strawberry champagne. He sniffs and a stray flyaway flitters and flutters straight into his nose.  
  
He sneezes.  
  
Right on her head.  
  
“Did you say something?”  
  
“Nothing!” he squeaks, suddenly relieved that this is not an interview. “Uh, say, Becky.”  
  
“ _Becky-san_.”  
  
“What exactly is it that you do?”  
  
She lets out a triumphant little “aha!” before removing herself from him, taking with her a very wrinkled tie. She tosses it at him and he catches it with one hand. “Ever hear of Himitsu no Nippon-chan?”  
  
“Himitsu no—oh! HNN? My mom watches that. She really likes, um, what’s his name?”  
  
“Sakurai—”  
  
“Sho-chan!”  
  
“That’s Sakurai-san to you,” she huffs. “But I’m glad to hear your mom is a fan. I know our ratings aren’t great, not yet, but we’ve been gaining a steady following!”  
  
Aiba nods. “Sure, so what is it that you do?”  
  
“I’m the Assistant Director.”  
  
“Woah, really?” She beams and flashes a peace sign at him. “But you’re, like, my age!”  
  
Her smile falters and her fingers lower. “Well. Okay, I’m not exactly the Assistant Director, but I might as well be! I pretty much do the work for it.”  
  
“So…what are you actually?”  
  
She wrinkles her nose at him. “I’m…Assistant  _to_  the Director,” she mumbles under her breath.  
  
“What?”  
  
She frowns and repeats. “Assistant to the Director.”  
  
“Oh.” That’s less impressive. “That’s less impressive.”  
  
“Says the delivery boy!” Becky growls back. “Now come on. Let’s go.”  
  
They enter a train car in complete silence after that. Becky refuses to acknowledge him, so Aiba picks up a magazine left on the seat and flips through the pages. “Ah, come to think of it, where are we going?”  
  
Becky sighs. “Suzuka Zoo.”  
  
“A zoo?” Aiba perks up immediately. “I love zoos!” He frowns. “Why does it seem like you don’t like zoos?”  
  
“It’s not that  _I_  don’t like the zoo, it’s more like the zoo doesn’t like us.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Director-san…burned some bridges…but then he tells me we must have an animal segment. MUST! So now I have to go aaaaall the way to Suzuka Zoo to negotiate for a common marmoset. It’s not even an extraordinary marmoset!!”  
  
“Ah, isn’t this a picture of Chiyoda Lighthouse?” Aiba asks, holding the magazine spread up to Becky, who scowls.  
  
“H-hey, rude! Listen when someone is talking—”  
  
“Did you ever hear the legend of Chiyoda Lighthouse?” Aiba asks, eyes shining.  
  
“Yeah, about the lovers and the little girl, right?”  
  
“Ye—wait, huh?”  
  
“You know. There was a young couple on the beach who spotted a little girl drowning. They dived in to save her and resurfaced near Chiyoda. She told them someone was waiting for her in there, but when they took her in, the door slammed after them…she was really the one waiting for them.”  
  
Aiba jumps as the train makes a noise.  
  
“But that’s just a silly superstition, why even bring it up?” Becky asks, crossing her arms.  
  
“I was just thinking it would be funny if Sho-chan went to discover the secret behind a haunted lighthouse.” Aiba says, flipping past the magazine page.  
  
“Sakurai-san,” Becky grumbles, before begrudgingly adding, “but I guess it would be funny.”

> _Boom._
> 
> _Boom.  
>    
>  Boom.  
>    
>  Screeeeeeee. _  
>    
>  “I didn’t knock. I did  _not_  knock. The door just opened. Why are you just standing there—get back here with me! Why are you heading even closer to the door?! Oi. OI—!”  
>    
>  “I  _thought_  I heard voices out here…”  
>    
>  “AHHHHHHHHH—”  
>    
>  “Eh? Satomi-chan, is that you?!”  
>    
>  “Yuko-san! It’s been so long! I was hoping you would be here.”  
>    
>  “—HHHHHHH—”  
>    
>  “And the screaming boy?”  
>    
>  “—hhh…?”  
>    
>  “…My boyfriend, Aiba Masaki.”

  
  
Thirty minutes later, Aiba watches as Becky is embroiled in a tense discussion with the director of Suzuka Zoo.  
  
“When I called earlier, I was given permission to use one of your animals for a broadcast. And then suddenly I get a call that there are no more?!”  
  
“I don’t know what to tell you,” the zoo manager says with a shrug. “None of my staff recalls getting any kind of call like that.”  
  
“Well check again!”  
  
“Miss, if you keep raising your voice, I’m going to ask you to leave.” He frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re scaring the animals.”  
  
When he turns away, Becky sticks her tongue out at him before stomping back to where Aiba is. “Unbelievable!  _You’re scaring the animals_ ,” she mimics in a high-pitched whine before sneering. “Says the guy wearing, like, a  _billion_  skulls. Director-san may be a lazy jerk and an idiot, but he was right to call this guy an assface.” Becky sighs. “There goes the program. Sakurai-san will be so disappointed.”  
  
“Does Sho-chan like animals?”  
  
“ _Sakurai-san._ “  
  
“You must like him a lot,” Aiba says thoughtfully.  
  
Becky turns a violent shade of purple. “What are you talking about?!”  
  
“Oh, sorry. You just keep saying Sakurai-san this, Sakurai-san that, so I thought…”  
  
“He’s the star of the program I work on!” Becky sputters. “And you keep saying his name wrong!”  
  
“You’re sure getting worked up for someone who doesn’t like him, then.”  
  
Becky gapes. “Don’t be stupid!”  
  
“You mean you don’t?”  
  
“Sakurai-san is very handsome, but I don’t think it would ever work out between us.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Becky opens her mouth, then seems to think better of it and shakes her head.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Do you really want to know?”  
  
“Yeah!”  
  
She purses her lips, but motions for him to come closer. “I know a secret about Sakurai-san that would make it impossible between us.”  
  
“What? What? What is it?”  
  
Becky motions for him to come even closer and only when he’s inches from her face does she whisper, “Sakurai-san is terrible at drawing.”  
  
Aiba crows with laughter. “What? That’s it?”  
  
“It’s very important for me to be with someone on the same wavelength as me.”  
  
“So you like the artistic type, huh?”  
  
“Definitely.”  
  
“I guess I’m out of the equation, too, then.”  
  
“ _Huh_? Why are you all of a sudden…”  
  
“People tell me I’m a terrible artist!” Aiba laughs, before scrunching up his eyebrows. “Although I think I’m quite good…”  
  
“D-d-d-don’t be stupid. What are we even talking about? I don’t even know you!”  
  
“Ah, that’s true.”  
  
“Anyhow—what have you been doing all this time?!” Becky suddenly shrieks, slapping a sheaf of hay out of his hands.  
  
“Oh, I was feeding this camel.”  
  
“You can’t just reach in there and do that!”  
  
“I got permission,” Aiba frowns, rubbing the sting off of his hand.  
  
“From who?!”  
  
“That zoo-ojiisan.”  
  
“ _What_  zoo—” Becky turns to finally notice the tiny old man dressed in overalls and a baseball cap, who’s been standing there since the very beginning. “Oh! Hello! I’m so sorry for any trouble this one has caused!”  
  
“ _This one_?”  
  
The old man laughs and shakes his head. “He was no trouble at all. He was actually helping me out a great deal.” He limps over to the edge of the enclosure to pat the camel on the head. “Caramel-chan came to Suzuka Zoo a few weeks ago, but she hasn’t been eating at all. We were afraid we would have to take her back—but she seems to have taken a liking to this young fella.”  
  
Aiba sticks his tongue out at Becky and she rolls her eyes back at him.  
  
“I overheard your conversation with the manager…it’s true they don’t have any marmosets at this zoo, but if you like, you could borrow Caramel-chan for your filming.”  
  
“Thank you,” Becky says drily, “but I doubt that rotten manager—ah, I mean, I doubt the manager will let us borrow her.”  
  
“Don’t be so hard on him. He seems tough, what with all those skulls and spikes he wears, but he’s actually very nice. I’ll talk to him.”  
  
“Um, thank you very much, but…” Becky trails off, looking at his zookeeper overalls and the frayed handkerchief around his neck.  
  
“Ah, you’re wondering what a doddering old man can do, eh?” He looks up and grins and Becky gasps with recognition.   
  
“Sh-Sh-Sh—” she stutters, pointing at him with wide eyes. “Shimura Ken-san?!”  
  
“Wait, zoo-ojiisan is—?”  
  
“Aiiiin!” he says, moving his hand under his chin.  
  
Aiba bursts out laughing and applauds while Becky continues to gape. “Why—but why are you…?”  
  
“Daigo-kun is a friend of mine. When I heard he was having trouble with Caramel-chan, I thought I might come and help—but it was really Aiba-kun that got her to eat.”  
  
“He knows your name,” Becky whispers behind her hand to Aiba in disbelief.  
  
“So, would you like to film with Caramel-chan?”  
  
“Y-yes please!”  
  
Shimura, and a grumpy-faced Daigo, wave them off on the transport vehicle just ten minutes later. Once they’re on the road, Becky furiously shouts into her phone, “Camels! We need secret facts about camels! What do you mean  _what happened to the marmosets_ —just research! Go!”  
  
Aiba pats Caramel-chan and feeds her some hay.  
  
When they arrive at the studio, Becky tells him to wait, so he waits next to the camera crew and doesn’t even see Becky until she slinks next to him just before filming starts.  
  
“On today’s Himitsu no Nippon-chan,” Matsushima announces, before they let Caramel-chan in through the curtains and Sho falls right out of his seat.  
  
“You’re hired.”  
  
“Ah, thanks, I—ehhh?!” His jaw goes slack. “What? I—what?”  
  
Becky smiles, amused. “Do you not want a job?”  
  
“No—I—I thought this wasn’t an interview?”  
  
“I lied.” Becky grins. “Nino said that you’re no good at conventional interviews, but if I spent one afternoon with you, I’d definitely want you on my team. And he was right.” Becky’s eyes twinkle. “Welcome, assistant to the assistant to the director.”  
  
  


> “Your cousin seems nice.”  
>    
>  “Mm, I wish she could have stayed longer, but I didn’t want to keep her. I know she’s been waiting for Kusanagi-san’s return.”  
>    
>  “Kusanagi-san?”  
>    
>  “Oh, sorry! Yuko-san’s husband. He’s a tuna fisherman.”  
>    
>  “Ehhhhh?!”  
>    
>  “What, what, what is it? Why so you look so shiny-eyed all of a sudden?”  
>    
>  “That is only the single most coolest job ever. Why didn’t we go to lunch with them like Yuko-san offered?”  
>    
>  “After a month apart, I figured they would rather spend their first few hours together, alone and uninterrupted.”  
>    
>  “But tuna…”  
>    
>  “Besides, I wanted to spend some time here with you.”  
>    
>  “Alone and uninterrupted?”  
>    
>  “Wipe that perverted smile off your face…”  
>    
>  “It is really pretty up here, though. It’s like you can see to the very end of the world. It’s somehow…nostalgic.”  
>    
>  “Mm, the air up here is fresher, too, and hey, listen. Do you hear that?”  
>    
>  “Hear what?”  
>    
>  “Hush, wait for it.”  
>    
>  “…”  
>    
>  “You heard it, right?”  
>    
>  “What?”  
>    
>  “The echo of the ocean.”

  
  
“Aiba-kun! Where have you been?!”  
  
“Yo, Becky!” Aiba says, holding up his bags from the convenience store. “You told me to get lunchboxes, remem—”  
  
“Becky-san,” Becky snaps. “But more importantly you—you—a-a-a-achoo!”  
  
“I—a-a-a?”  
  
“Get dressed!”  
  
“Are my pants down again?” Aiba yips, nearly dropping the bags in alarm.  
  
“No,” Becky groans. “Both Matsushi-shi-shima-san and Nakajima-san—and Sakurai-san and and and I can’t—”  
  
“Becky,” Aiba says, putting down his bags and taking her by her flailing arms. “Breathe. What’s happening?”  
  
“Matsushima-san and Nakajima-san are completely out of commission with the flu. And Sakurai-san just lost one of his contacts and he doesn’t have his glasses, so he won’t be able to read anything, and—and you need to go on!”  
  
“Haa?”  
  
“Achoo!” Becky blows her nose with a wrinkled tissue from her jacket pocket, and her nose looks raw and red after. “I would do it myself, but there’s no way I can be on camera like this.”  
  
“But I don’t…”  
  
“Aiba-kun,  _please_ ,” Becky pleads, eyes watery from more than sneezing all day. “This is the first time I’ve been allowed to direct an episode myself and I—I can’t—a—ah…”  
  
Aiba sticks his finger under Becky’s nose, stifling the sneeze. “What do I need to do?”  
  
Becky’s entire face lights up. “All you have to do is wheel in the sign board after Sakurai-san announces the mystery guest. When he asks about her special skill, you’re going to unveil the answer. And then you’re going to read the answer. And then you’re going to exit as soon as they get into the conversation. Okay?”  
  
“Okay, okay.”  
  
Which is how Aiba finds himself dressed like a waiter, or a bartender or something—bowtie and cummerbund and all—on standby just on the other side of the mystery curtain.  
  
“Please welcome Kuroki Meisa-san!” Sho calls and Aiba does a double-take. There’s no way that…   
  
“Aiba-kun!” Becky hisses from the side and Aiba jumps, almost knocks the board completely over, but manages to keep it upright with both hands. Becky motions for him to hurry up so he does, and sure enough, sitting next to Sho on the plush, velvet sofa is the same Kuroki Meisa he knows from summers in Okinawa. She looks nervous, eyebrows sharper than ever, and she’s biting on her bottom lip in a very uncharacteristic manner. She catches his eye and her expression melts into confusion, recognition, and bewilderment. Aiba knows the feeling, but does the only thing he can think to do and shoots her a thumbs-up from the inside his jacket. She looks no less confused, but manages a small smile.  
  
“And Kuroki Meisa-san’s secret skill is…”  
  
“A-Ah!” Aiba blurts out before removing the cover on the board and reading, “Murder…ing.”  
  
There’s a moment of intense silence where Aiba can’t quite pinpoint why something feels off. Then the audience bursts into hysterical laughter, Meisa’s mouth drops open, and even Sho covers his mouth with one hand. Thankfully Sho is a professional, turns toward Meisa with a disarming smile and continues, “So, Kuroki-san, your secret skill is murdering.”  
  
Meisa stifling a laugh, as she shakes her head. “No, no, that’s sword fighting.  _Sword fighting_.”  
  
“Ah, sword fighting. What a shame, I have a list…” Sho trails off, and the audience eats it up.  
  
Aiba takes this cue to leave and retreat next to Becky’s side. “Becky, I’m—”  
  
“We’ll edit it out,” she whispers, refusing to look at him. She doesn’t say another word for the rest of filming.  
  
  


> “You know, Kusanagi-san’s family has been the caretakers of the lighthouse for the past several generations. The Kusanagi men would follow a calling to the ocean while the women would stay and take care of the lighthouse, making sure to protect the beacon that would bring their men home, safe and sound. But as time passed, the men of the Kusanagi family went on to ignore their calling—at least, that’s what Kusanagi-san told us that first day we met him here. He said that he would definitely go back to the sea when he was old enough.  
>    
>  “But then he was sidetracked by a period of teenage rebellion and wanted to be a gangster, and then he became a responsible adult and got a government job like his brother. But eventually he realized he wasn’t happy like this. It was a hard decision, leaving a stable job for a life out on the sea, but Yuko-san said she would take care of the lighthouse in his stead, so he could always find his way back to her. Isn’t that so sweet?”  
>    
>  “So what’s the biggest tuna he’s ever caught?”  
>    
>  “Were you not listening to their romantic story at all? You’re the one who asked about it!”  
>    
>  “What, no, I was totally listening to that fascinating thing you just said…”  
>    
>  “Hmph! Why are you so interested in tuna fishing anyway?”  
>    
>  “Ah, that? I kind of wanted to be a tuna fisherman when I was younger.”  
>    
>  “A tuna fisherman?”  
>    
>  “Yeah, I don’t remember why…probably a manga I read? I have a really clear image of it for some reason. Of being bundled up in layers of clothing—puffy jackets and scarves and gloves and all—of being out on the ocean, breathing in the crisp, pure air, of a fishing a tuna out of an iceberg-filled sea…”  
>    
>  “That sounds nice.”  
>    
>  “Really? You’re not gonna laugh?”  
>    
>  “Why would I laugh?”  
>    
>  “Everyone else always did…they said I must be joking.”  
>    
>  “Well, I’m sure Kusanagi-san was met with the same kind of condescension, but he certainly proved them wrong.”  
>    
>  “Yeah…I guess he did. I guess anyone could if they really, really put their heart into it, right?”

  
  
“Aiba-kun! Hey, Aiba-kun!”  
  
Aiba barely turns his head toward the call before Meisa barrels straight into him, tackling him into a hug. “Mmph!”  
  
“What are you doing here?!” she exclaims after releasing him. “I was super shocked, you know!”  
  
“I work here. What are  _you_  doing here? Well, I mean I guess I know now. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”  
  
“It was a last-minute thing. The director of our school was supposed to come, but he came down with a flu last minute—it seems to be going around.” Meisa shrugs, before grinning. “By the way, it’s been too long since you last visited! You should come to Okinawa sometime soon. I bet Ohno-kun would really like that.”  
  
“I can’t believe Ohno is still in Okinawa. He told me he usually never stays in the same place for more than a year at a time.”  
  
“He seems to be enjoying himself—has gotten really tan from always being out in the sun. You know, he even has some kind of barter system in place, so he’s always paying for his food with art.”  
  
“Ohno really lives in his own world and drags people along with him, huh?” Aiba asks, shaking his head. “How are you two doing, by the way?”  
  
Meisa smiles and holds up her pinky.  
  
“Congrats!”  
  
“Thank you, thank you,” Meisa replies, lowering her head shyly. “And thanks for what you did in there.”  
  
“For calling you a skilled murderer on national TV?”  
  
“No.” She smacks him lightly on the shoulder. “I was really nervous, but seeing a friendly face helped.”  
  
“I’m just glad Sho-chan—ah, Sakurai-san—is a professional. He led the crowd right back into focus.”  
  
Aiba walks her to her the front door and waves her off in her taxi. Maybe it is time for another summer vacation in Okinawa. Everyone’s been so busy since they graduated—it would be nice to get the gang back together. Maybe even Becky might want to…  
  
Something thunks against his shoulder and he blinks. “Ah, Becky! I was just thinking about you!”  
  
“R-really?” Becky blinks, before crossing her arms. “I mean, it’s Becky-san. And you seem awfully chummy with someone you just called a murderer.”  
  
Oh, shoot. “Oh, shoot. I’m really sorry, I—”  
  
“Do you know her?”  
  
“Huh? Who?”  
  
Becky frowns. “Kuroki Meisa, obviously.”  
  
“Oh. She’s a friend of a friend—ah, Nino and Masami know her, too. I never thought I’d see her in Tokyo, though. I didn’t even know she was into sword fighting! That was pretty cool, huh?”  
  
“Hmm.”  
  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
Aiba frowns, suddenly remembering. “I really am sorry about the filming. I know this was your chance to prove yourself as a director. I’ll do anything to make it up—”  
  
“A director’s role isn’t to make sure things go perfectly,” Becky cuts him off, holding a hand up to ward off his apology. “To film something enjoyable is the most important thing.”  
  
“So why do you look so put off?”  
  
“I don’t!”  
  
“You do.”  
  
“I said it’s nothing!”  
  
“If it were nothing, you wouldn’t be so agitated.”  
  
Becky gapes at him open-mouthed, makes swirly arm movements, and then crosses her arms again with a pout. “Do you really want to know?”  
  
“Yes!”  
  
“I…I…well, too bad!” Becky yells, taking off in the opposite direction.

> “Say, Satomi, what did you want to be when you grew up?”
> 
> “Hmm, you know, no one’s ever asked me that.”  
>    
>  “No one? No way! That’s all everyone’s  _ever_  asked me!”  
>    
>  “No, it’s true. My mom used to say that I learned how to dance before I learned how to walk—the first memory I can recall is of my mother, pulling up my ballet shoes because I didn’t know how. The teachers said I had the aptitude for it, so I just continued dancing until one day, one of my instructors sent in a recording of my performance to the Royal Ballet School. And from then on, well… “  
>    
>  “Ahh, that sounds so nice, so straightforward. No thinking, just living. How great you knew what you wanted to do since you were little.”  
>    
>  “Hmm.”  
>    
>  “Hmm?”  
>    
>  “Well, I didn’t always want to be a ballerina…”  
>    
>  “You didn’t always want to be a ballerina?! You just said you knew how to dance before you knew how to walk! I thought ballet was your whole life.”  
>    
>  “It  _was_. I mean, it still is, and I love it. But, I never  _thought_  about doing ballet when I grew up. It just…happened.”  
>    
>  “Then what did you want to be?”  
>    
>  “No laughing, okay?”  
>    
>  “Never.”  
>    
>  “I…since I was a little girl, I always wanted to be a nurse.”  
>    
>  “A nurse?”  
>    
>  “I know, it sounds silly, doesn’t it?”  
>    
>  “Not silly. I mean, only silly in that I bet most nurses would rather dream about being ballerinas instead of the other way around…but why a nurse?”  
>    
>  “I…remember I told you I how I broke my leg?”  
>    
>  “Yeah, when you were in fourth grade. You were climbing a tree in order to save a kitten, right?”  
>    
>  “Yeah…unfortunately, although the kitten landed on its feet, I did not. So my parents rushed me to the hospital, and we had to wait ages and ages for the doctor to finally see us. He said it was nothing to worry about at all, set my leg in a cast, prescribed a night in the hospital just so they could keep an eye on me, make sure I didn’t go climbing any more trees. And then he left, and then my parents had to leave, and I was all alone.   
>    
>  “But just when I felt like crying, one of the nurses came to check up on me. She said that the kitten must have been a very lucky one because of all the trouble I went through for it. She squeezed my hand in hers and told me everything would be all right, and her hand was so warm and comforting. She said that morning would be here soon enough, but if I was still feeling a little scared, maybe an extra chocolate pudding cup would help. She was…really, really nice.”  
>    
>  “Mm, so why didn’t you ever try becoming a nurse?”  
>    
>  “I was scared, to be honest.”  
>    
>  “Scared?”  
>    
>  “It’s like—I knew. In my heart of hearts I knew that I could become a ballerina, you know? There was nothing scary about it—it was straightforward and simple. No thinking, just living, right? But being a nurse? Holding people’s lives in my clumsy hands that couldn’t even hang on to a measly tree branch? Forming connections with people, sharing empathy…being that one beacon of warmth to a stranger? I didn’t think I had it in me.”

  
  
His NG doesn’t get cut from the show. His mother turns on the TV and Aiba watches his goof play out as if in slow motion. Mapo tofu drips from his mouth as he gapes in horror.  
  
“Masaki—hey, Masaki, isn’t that you?!” his mother gasps, hands over his mouth. “This is so exciting! My son is a television star! Wait, but what did you call that nice young lady?”  
  
He gets called into the producer’s office the following week, after everyone is sent home for the night. Aiba’s spent the whole day on pins and needles, and now he’s pretty sure he’s going to be fired. He’s mostly afraid that somehow he will get Becky fired, too, so he lines up his apologies, polishes and practices them until he has it memorized and is in no danger of calling anyone else a murderer. What he doesn’t expect when walking into the producer’s office is to see both the director and Sho standing there with him. What he really never, ever could have possibly expected in his wildest dreams is that the first words out of the producer’s mouth would be, “YOU, do you want a job?”  
  
“ _What_?”  
  
“We’ve kept it under wraps, but both Nakajima and Matsushima have decided to move on from the show. Instead of undertaking a solo hosting job, Sakurai-kun thinks it might be better to have a co-host. Someone he can banter with.” The director chuckles. “Besides, your ideas inspired some of our more highly rated episodes—like that lighthouse segment. Right, Sakurai?”   
  
He pokes at Sho’s ribs in-between fits of giggles and Sho coughs and lightly slaps his hands away. “While that wasn’t  _particularly_  my favorite segment, Koichi-san is right. I think the energy from our last show was one of the best.” He smiles and offers a hand. “I’d really like to work with you, Aiba-san.”  
  
  


> “Say, Masaki, do you…”  
>    
>  “Do I…?”  
>    
>  “Do you have any regrets?”   
>    
>  “About what?”  
>    
>  “The choices you’ve made after you’ve made them, or even before you’ve made them. Do you ever wonder what could have happened if you lived a different life?”  
>    
>  “I’m not a very regretful person.”  
>    
>  “I should have guessed that.”  
>    
>  “Especially because…you know, all my choices in this life led me to you.”  
>    
>  “Oh…”  
>    
>  “Do you?”

  
  
Aiba must be dreaming. He pinches his face just outside the producer’s office and it  _hurts_ , but he still can’t really believe it. Can someone really go from assisting the assistant to the director to being on television for a living? No, he has to be dreaming. He pinches himself one more time for good measure, but by the time he gets to the end of the hallway, his cheeks  _still_  hurt.  
  
“This is Himitsu no Nippon-chan!”   
  
Aiba blinks. That’s Becky’s voice. He smiles and jogs over to the set, catches her sitting on the red couch, her trusty clipboard on her lap as she taps her pen against her thigh. “Applause, applause, applause. And then…zoom in from camera two and…”  
  
Aiba’s smile grows wider. “Becky!”  
  
“Becky- _san_ ,” Becky huffs without looking up, but even she can’t fight a smile when she finally does. “What are you doing here so late?”  
  
“Ah, I…” Aiba trails off, still not sure how to even phrase it in words.   
  
“Well, since you’re here, want to help me decorate the set for the Christmas segment?”  
  
“Uh, sure.”  
  
They work in complete silence except for Becky humming randoms strings of one Christmas carol, before moving into the chorus of a completely different one. They set up a large tree just behind the couch and begin decorating it, but when Aiba reaches for an ornament in the box just as Becky does, when his hand meets hers for a brief second, they both jerk back in surprise.  
  
“Oh, sorry. Um. After you.”  
  
“No, no, ladies first.”  
  
“Oi, who are you saying that to?” Aiba grunts and Becky just laughs in that way she does.  
  
“I think that’s everything,” Becky says after about an hour’s work, wiping the dust from her skirt. “Thanks for your help!”  
  
“Yeah, no problem.” Aiba replies, jamming his hands into his sweater pockets. His fingers slip around a piece of paper and he remembers. “Oh yeah!”  
  
“What?”  
  
Aiba takes out a crumpled piece of paper, smooths it out on the thigh of his jeans, before handing it to her. “It’s my New Year’s card—I thought I would give it to you now.” It was the only thing he could think to do after seeing his NG on TV, after being so sure he would get fired. He just…wanted to say goodbye, and sorry, and everything his mouth could never really properly say.  
  
“Not a Christmas card?” Becky asks, nose wrinkled as she looks at the paper every which way. “What…is it?”  
  
“It’s a cow.”  
  
“That’s a cow?!”  
  
Aiba pouts.  
  
“I mean, I see it. Totally. Yeah…um, thanks.” She laughs, tucking it into her giant bag. “Thanks. It’s great.”  
  
“Hey, want to get something to eat?” Aiba says, wondering when it got so warm in here.  
  
“Wh-what?”  
  
“Food. Are you hungry?”  
  
“No. I mean, no.”  
  
“That means the same thing.”  
  
“I mean I’m not hungry.” Becky’s stomach growls as if on cue. She coughs to cover the sound.  
  
“If you don’t want to eat with me, you just have to say it.” Aiba frowns, digging his hands further into his pockets. He just…wanted to celebrate. “I guess I’ll be off then,” he says when Becky continues to stare at a point on the floor in complete silence. He heads for the door only to hear Becky’s hurried footsteps chasing after him.   
  
“No, sorry, that’s not!” Becky cuts off, colliding straight into his back when he stops. “That is—ah!” She freezes, stares just above them and Aiba follows her gaze to…ah.  
  
Mistletoe.  
  
“Becky-san, do you hate—”  
  
“Kiss me.”  
  
“ _What_?!”  
  
Becky turns a violent shade of red. “Don’t make me say it again,” she whispers.  
  
“I thought you liked Sho-chan,” he blurts out.  
  
“Don’t be stupid.”  
  
Aiba closes his eyes, leans in and tries really, really hard not to be.  
  
His head bumps into hers and she laughs, pulls his face closer with her hands and shuts him up before he can say anything stupid.  
  
“So why were you here so late anyway?” Becky asks, taking his hand shyly into hers as they step out of the studio.  
  
“Oh, that’s because…”  
  
“Oh, wait! Before I forget, did you hear the news?” Becky interrupts, bright-eyed. “I can’t believe I totally forgot to mention it! Apparently Matsushima-san and Nakajima-san didn’t want to renew their contracts, so they’re looking for a new co-host for Sakurai-san.”  
  
“Ah, as a matter of fact…”  
  
“Ahh, I was kind of thinking I would ask to be considered.”  
  
“Eh?”   
  
“For the position as Sakurai-san’s co-host.”  
  
“Didn’t you want to be a director?”  
  
“Well, I got this position because it was the only one available…but more than anything I’ve wanted to star in a variety show since I was a child.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yup!” Becky grins. “It’s a long-shot, but I would really regret it if I never even asked.”  
  
“Yeah…”  
  
“I heard they’ve even pulled out all the stops for a super secret star guest for the first episode of the new year!”  
  
“G-great…”  
  
“But, oh yeah. Sorry!” Becky shakes her head and squeezes his hand. “I always yell at you for interrupting, but here I am cutting you off. You were saying?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“You’re here late because?”  
  
“Oh…that’s…”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_I am your thought but the water’s amnesia  
_ _my name is on the tip of your tongue…_

 


	4. Two (Scavengers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU. Life is about chances and choices. (For history’s sake, would you please take notice?)

 

> “It’s not that I have regrets, not exactly. Just sometimes…sometimes I wonder what life would have been like if I had…done something else. Been something more.”
> 
> “Hmm.”  
>    
>  “Hmm?”  
>    
>  “If you could live your life over again and do whatever you want, what would you do? No regrets, no consequences, what would you want to have done? Would you have become a nurse?”  
>    
>  “Knowing what I know now?”  
>    
>  “Knowing what you know now.”  
>    
>  “Hmmm…no, wait this is too hard. You go first?”  
>    
>  “Me? Well…okay, don’t laugh at this either.”  
>    
>  “Depends on what you say.”  
>    
>  “Back when I lived in Chiba, the first time I mean, we used to live with my grandparents. It was a small house, a little more removed from the city, and they had a massive backyard. My parents were always working, and I wasn’t in school just yet, so I would just…help my grandmother in the garden, follow her down row after row of vegetables, splooshing water everywhere because the watering can was too big for my hands.  
>    
>  “A little section of the garden in the backyard was fenced off, and that’s where my grandparents kept their…peafowls.”  
>    
>  “Peafowls?”  
>    
>  “Oh, that’s a milder reaction than I was expecting.”  
>    
>  “Peafowls are really beautiful, though. Who wouldn’t want them in their backyard?”  
>    
>  “I can think of a few people…but, anyway, whenever I think about those carefree days, I think…if I could have lived my life simply, just planted a garden and raised peafowls in my backyard, maybe even some chickens…I think I would have been happy.”

**_  
  
Two (Scavengers)_ **

“Want to get some food?”

“E-excuse me?”  
  
“Food.” He blinks at her. “You eat, right?” His hand finds her wrist easily, and he measures it with his thumb and forefinger. There’s a sizable gap between the two. “You should eat more—you’re so thin.”

Satomi jerks her hand back at the touch and catches sight of her watch. “Ah! I’m late!” she says, completely forgetting herself and running full-speed to school.  
  
Ms. Esumi keeps her after for a whole hour to make up for the twenty minutes she was late. It’s helpful, actually, but it also means it’s pouring by the time she gets out. She passes Covent Garden Square and pauses at the corner of the intersection, taps her fingers over the handle of her umbrella and wonders if Andromeda was really devoured in the end.

“Okay, now you.”  
  
“Already? Well…I guess…if I could have lived my life surrounded by people I love, people who loved me back—I would have been happy…”  
  
“Oh, is that all?”  
  
“What do you mean, _is that all_?”  
  
“I just mean that you’re in luck!”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because that’s how you’re living right now, isn’t it?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Being surrounded by people you love, who love you back!”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Well there’s me, obviously. And Nino, Maki-chan, Becky, Sho-chan…”  
  
“They’re not my friends, though, Masaki.”  
  
“What are you talking about? Do you not like them?”  
  
“N-no, of course that’s not it!”  
  
“Then…?”  
  
“I mean, they don’t really like me.”  
  
“What? They love you.”  
  
“They’re nice to me because I’m your girlfriend.”

“Miitan!”  
  
Satomi glances up from the airport gate and an uncontrollable smile spreads over her face.  
  
“Maachan!” She waves giddily, flails her arms over her head as Masami rolls her giant luggage toward her. Satomi meets her in the middle and they collide in a jumble of arms and giggles and delight.  
  
“Your hair got so long!” Satomi gasps, twirling a long strand of Masami’s hair between her fingers. “I thought you always liked short hair.”  
  
“I needed a change,” Masami grins. “And I always loved your hair.”  
  
“So what do you want to see first?”  
  
“Everything!” Masami demands, throwing her hands into the air. “I want to see the London Eye and Buckingham Palace and Trafalgar Square and Hyde Park and, and oooh! Big Ben! And—”

“You want to see all that in one day?” Satomi laughs, taking hold of Masami’s bag despite her protest. “We should at least drop your stuff off first.”

“Fiiiine.” Masami lets out a dramatic sigh. “And then everything!”

Masami passes out the second she sits down on Satomi’s bed. “Jus’ five min…Mii…” she mutters, rolling around in Satomi’s sheets without even changing.

Satomi rolls her eyes but continues to neatly unpack all of Masami’s belongings into the drawer she’s cleaned out for the occasion. “Okay,” Satomi promises, tucking her blanket over Masami’s chin with a smile.

“I mean…it…”

“Okay, okay.”  
  
Masami wakes with a scream five short hours later, just as Satomi’s straightening her bangs. Satomi almost drops the straightener into the sink in her rush to check on Masami. “What? What is it?!”  
  
“You let me sleep!” Masami cries, balling her fists into the sheets.  
  
“Oh, is that all?” Satomi sighs in relief. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”  
  
“ _Oh is that all_?! I slept through my entire first day here! And you were going to let me sleep all the way through the night, past your performance?!”  
  
“I’m performing again tomorrow. And we have two whole weeks to go explore London. You should sleep—you look exhausted.” Masami fights a yawn as if on cue and Satomi points triumphantly. “See!”  
  
“Fine, I’m sleepy! I’m jetlagged. So what! Where you say two whole weeks, I say _only_ two weeks! _Just_ two weeks is barely enough time at all after how many years of not seeing each other at all.”  
  
“ _Okay_ ,” Satomi cuts in, knowing if Masami continues on her impassioned tirade there will be no stopping her. “But I’m leaving now to rehearse.”  
  
“I’ll go with you!”  
  
“You should get something to eat first,” Satomi trails off, furrowing her eyebrows. “Get some food and then come when the show starts. I’ve left your ticket on the nightstand.”  
  
“I. Am. Going. With. You.” Masami repeats, and Satomi knows she’s fighting a losing battle.  
  
“All right, all right, get ready, then. I’m leaving soon.”  
  
“You may want to do something about those bangs first.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
Masami points to the vanity mirror and Satomi cranes her neck to get a better look—her bangs are flipped completely upward. Masami bursts out laughing.  
  
“Hey, this happened because _you_ screamed. Help me fix it!”  
  
“Okay,” Masami chuckles, wiping at her eyes. “But I always work for a fee.” Masami’s hands quickly reach for her cell phone and then there is a click and a flash that leaves Satomi seeing stars. “Blackmail shot!”

Satomi groans. “Why am I friends with you?”  
  
“Because otherwise you’d have none,” Masami replies, blowing her a raspberry, before cracking up anew at the picture.

 

> “What? Don’t be crazy. That’s not the only reason—”  
>    
>  “You don’t have to be nice about it, Masaki, it’s okay.”  
>    
>  “But really! Every time Maki-chan calls me, she spends more time asking about you than about me. And Becky has been bugging me to get you to go on this girls’ weekend trip she’s been planning forever. You still haven’t given me an answer, by the way.”  
>    
>  “I’m not saying your friends aren’t nice, because they _are_. They are…really, really nice. Because they’re _your_ friends and they’re also all in relationships is the only reason…”  
>    
>  “What does that have to to with any—”  
>    
>  “It does, Masaki. You just don’t understand.”  
>    
>  “Try me. Why don’t you want to go on a trip with them?”  
>    
>  “It would…it would just be a bother if I actually accepted.”  
>    
>  “That’s nonsense. If they didn’t want to hang out with you they wouldn’t—”  
>    
>  “Stop, please. Really I…talking with people—becoming friends—it’s just not something I can do. A-and I’m okay with it. So just drop it, okay? Please?”  
>    
>  “What about Masami-chan?”  
>    
>  “What about her?”  
>    
>  “She’s your best friend, Satomi, and if she can be your friend, why can’t—”  
>    
>  “Masami-chan is…I think if I had stayed in Japan, in Tokyo, if we had gone to the same high school like we planned…I think she wouldn’t have stayed my friend, either…”

  
  
“That was amazing, Satomi-chan!” Masami cries, tackling Satomi in the dressing room. Satomi barely has her makeup off, and her hair is still tightly curled into a bun, but she accepts the hug with open arms.  
  
“You think so?” Satomi asks wiping down her face with a towel, trying to hide the growing smile on her face.  
  
“Even better than the lead,” Masami replies, loudly and dramatically, which makes Satomi giggle anew.

“Shh! Don’t say something like that! What if someone hears you?”  
  
“She has her own dressing room, doesn’t she?” Satomi nods. “Then it’s fine, right?” Masami beams. “Besides, I mean it. You really were the best part of the show. Better than the lead!”

A few of the other dancers glance over, tittering in response, and Satomi ducks her head in apology, though she hasn’t managed to wipe the silly grin off her face.  
  
“And you are incredibly biased,” Satomi says, letting her hair loose. “And I love you for it.”  
  
“You should.” Masami nods sagely. “I am _very_ loveable. Now let’s get some food before I—” Masami trails off, swaying on her feet until her knees buckle right under her.  
  
Satomi barely manages to catch her before she hits the floor. “Masami-chan?! Are you all right?”  
  
“I’m fine,” Masami murmurs, blinking and shaking her head. “Fine.” She stands on her own, but not without swaying one last time, leaning against Satomi for support. “I must be hungrier than I thought.” She rubs her stomach and it growls in reply.  
  
“This is why I told you to go eat!” Satomi huffs, keeping an arm around Masami’s shoulders and leading her to a chair.  
  
“I was afraid I’d pass out again and miss the show…I had some coffee just before it started, if that helps?”  
  
“It doesn’t. In fact that’s probably worse, did you even have any water?!”

Masami looks up at her with giant, helpless doe eyes and shakes her head.

Satomi sighs. “Okay, let me get you some water first, then I’ll quickly change and we’ll get some food for you, okay?”

“Okay, but don’t take too long,” Masami says, tugging on Satomi’s wrist, further proof that she must be _starving_. Masami only becomes incredibly clingy and sweet when she’s hungry or drunk.  
  
Satomi means to get some water from the cooler down the hallway, but doesn’t make it past the door. Satomi squeaks, bumping straight into…something cold and crinkly. Oh, excuse me!” she exclaims in English, bowing in apology. She doesn’t mean to notice it, but she catches the glint of gold on the pinky toe of a foot that seems decidedly male. Satomi follows her gaze up a pair of dark denim jeans, to a giant, crinkly bouquet of vibrant orange and pink lilies, up further to a smooth, angular face. With his windswept hair, leather jacket, and dark sunglasses, he looks like, well, like something out of a movie. “Hello. May I help you?”

“Hello,” he replies, reaching up with one hand to pull off his sunglasses. “You are…?” he trails off, frowning, before trying again in Japanese. “Are you Ishihara Satomi-san?”  
  
“Ah, yes,” Satomi replies, falling back into her native tongue with a little difficulty. “Are you looking for some—”

He presses the bouquet of flowers right into her arms and she blinks. “Um?”  
  
“I don’t ever do this, but,” he says, says hastily, bringing a hand to ruffle his hair, “would you do me the honor of having dinner with me tonight?”  
  
“H-huh?” Satomi blinks again, fumbling with a bouquet much too large and gorgeous to really be for her. This must be some kind of dream. “Me?”  
  
He nods, somewhat bashfully. “Yes.”  
  
“But I…?” Satomi trails off, at a loss. She reaches a hand to pinch at her warming cheeks.

It hurts.  
  
“Mii-tan, what’s taking so long?” Two arms circle Satomi from behind and she feels the comfortable weight of Masami’s head on her shoulder. Masami’s chin lifts slightly and then she is screeching straight into Satomi’s ear, “Is that Matsuchuun-sama?!”  
  
Satomi almost knocks their heads together when she glances back at her. “Do you know him?”  
  
“ _Everyone_ knows him,” Masami replies faintly, her arms tightening around Satomi’s waist. “Is this real? Did I starve to death? Am I in heaven?”

“No, you’re not in heaven,” Satomi replies, removing herself from Masami’s embrace to get a better look at her. “Your pupils do look a little dilated, though…”

“What is going on here?! Are you really Matsuchuun-sama?!” Masami demands, fighting Satomi’s hands away from her face. She steps up to him and lifts her chin to full height before poking him in the chest. “Or is this just some weird imposter?!”  
  
“Ah, Masami-chan, don’t do that!” Satomi says, stepping in between them and shaking her head. “That’s rude.”

“I assure you, Masami-san, I am not some weird imposter.” He smiles and Masami squeaks, eyes wide.

“I touched him!”

“Masami-chan…”

“May I have your autograph?” Masami says, completely shiny-eyed and adoring.

“Of course.” The words are barely out of his lips before Masami squeaks anew and runs back into the dressing room to find some pen and paper.  
  
“I-I’m so sorry for all this,” Satomi says, bowing again in apology. “She just got off the plane and hasn’t adjusted to the time difference yet.”  
  
“There is nothing to apologize for.”

Satomi smiles. “Thank you, Matsuchuun-san.”

“Ah, no, Matsuchuun is an unfortunate nickname I’ve apparently been given on the internet.” He chuckles. “A version of my stage nickname, Matsujun, which is a portmanteau of Matsumoto Jun.”  
  
“Oh I see!” Satomi nods. “Um, about before, then, Matsumoto-san, did you—”  
  
“Found it!” Masami reemerges with a crisp sheet of paper and a silver marker, which Matsumoto takes and autographs against the wall with great, flourishing strokes. “Thank you so much!” Masami squeals, pressing the autographed paper to her chest. “But what are you doing in…” Masami trails off, suddenly aware of the large bouquet of flowers in Satomi’s hands. “Oh. _Ohhhhhh_.” She points between them with a gaping mouth. “Are you…?”  
  
“Well, yes. I came here to ask Ishihara-san to dinner.” Matsumoto smiles a little. “Although I still haven’t received an answer…”  
  
“I—”  
  
“She’d _love_ to,” Masami replies at once, shoving Satomi forward.  
  
Satomi shoots her a frown. “What about dinner?”  
  
“Woman, Matsuchuun-sama is asking you to dinner. _That’s_ what’s about dinner.”

“You’re sick.”

“I’m fine!”

“You just got into London!”

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”  
  
“You visiting me is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity as well!”  
  
“Um,” Matsumoto says, raising a hand.

“She’s coming!” Masami yelps before Satomi covers her mouth with her hand and says, “I’m terribly sorry, Matsumoto-san. But I must decline—”

“You are _not_ declining—mmph!”  
  
“You’re welcome to join us, ah, Masami-san, was it?” Matsumoto cuts in smoothly. “I would be more than happy to dine in the company of two lovely ladies.”  
  
Masami flushes violently but shakes her head. “I-I—thank you, that’s very kind, but I’m sure that would be an inconvenience.” She turns to Satomi. “But you, you go.”  
  
“But.”  
  
“If you don’t go, I will no longer be your friend.”  
  
Satomi pouts.  
  
“Besides, remember that friend I told you about? She landed a few days ago and is staying with her dad right now. I can just visit her sooner rather than later.”  
  
“Free dinner and you get to keep your friend sounds like a good deal to me.”  
  
Satomi bites her lip and glances from Masami’s eager face to Matsumoto’s disarming smile. “Well, I suppose no one could say no to that,” she stammers at last.  
  
Matsumoto offers her an arm, which Masami pushes her to take.

“You’ve got the keys to my apartment?” she asks worriedly, and Masami laughs and pushes them along.

“Yes, yes, now go and have fun you two!” she calls, before leaning in one last time to whisper in Satomi’s ear, “Tell me _everything_ when you get back.”  
  
He takes her to some high-class, fancy French place, and she can’t read the name of the restaurant, let alone anything on the menu. He orders for the both of them and is content to make small talk as they wait. He asks her about life in London and how long she’s been here and whether she’s been to this restaurant before. She tries to answer each of his question sincerely, but every time she glances at him, his eyes are so focused on her that she can do nothing but stammer and blush and avert her gaze. She hadn’t quite noticed how handsome he was until he was sitting across from her, so close to her, here, together, bathed in romantic candlelight.

Dinner is eaten carefully, in a haze, trying her hardest not to scratch the silverware that may very well be made of silver. She barely remembers to say, “Th-thank you,” just as they leave the restaurant. All this heart-hammering must be very bad for her. “Dinner was amazing, and the bouquet was very beautiful. You really shouldn’t have…”  
  
“I think it was easier to talk to you when you had no inkling of who I was,” Matsumoto says with a wistful little smile.  
  
“I-I’m sorry!” Satomi exclaims, bowing profusely. “I hope you have a lovely night.”  
  
“Ah, Ishihara-san, I did have one last appointment for the night…I would be honored if you might accompany me?”  
  
She really doesn’t understand why he would feel any honor to spend more time with her, but she nods because it’s the only thing she can do without looking at him.  
  
Less than an hour later she’s gasping with delight in the very top car of the London Eye. Her hands are pressed to the glass window, face so close she’s fogging up the glass, but she can’t help it. “It’s funny,” Satomi says, sitting back in her seat and marveling at the London skyline.  
  
“What is?”  
  
“I’ve lived in London for over five years now, but it’s never seemed as beautiful as it has just now.”  
  
“That’s funny,” Jun replies.  
  
“What is?”  
  
“I was just thinking—I’ve been in London for five days, and it’s never seemed as beautiful as it has just now.”  
  
Satomi glances over at him to reply, but realizes only then that he’s staring back at her.  


 

> “How can you say that about Masami-chan?!”  
>    
>  “It’s just something I know from experience.”  
>    
>  “What experience?”  
>    
>  “I don’t really want to talk about it, Masaki.”  
>    
>  “Satomi.”

  
  
Satomi wakes to sunlight flitting over her eyelids, enveloped in silken sheets. To her right, Jun snores softly, face pressed into the pillow, hair in complete disarray.  
  
“Awake?” Matsujun mumbles, cracking his sleepy eyes open.  
  
“Mm, but not for long,” Satomi whispers in reply.  
  
“Whatimissit?”  
  
“Early.”  
  
“Too early.”  
  
Satomi giggles. “Too early.”  
  
Jun whines nasally through his nose, eyes drooping shut and lips smacking together sleepily. Satomi likes him best in the morning, when he’s still sleepy and silly and completely vulnerable, when he’s less like a star and more like any other man weak to mornings. She reaches her hand to smooth out the pillow wrinkles in his cheek, and his hand comes up to claim hers.  
  
“Go back to sleep.”  
  
“I can’t,” Satomi admits, curling her body to the side, toward him. “I’m thinking.”  
  
“About what?” Jun’s eyes are fully open now, though they are still cloudy with fatigue.  
  
“About my life,” Satomi begins. “About how perfect it seems right in this very moment.”  
  
He smiles and twines their fingers together, pulls her closer so that their noses are almost touching.  
  
“Can I ask you something?”  
  
“Hmm,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to her nose.  
  
“Why me?”  
  
“Why you what?”  
  
“On the night of the Swan Lake performance—when you came to the dressing room looking for me…why me?”  
  
“Oh, that?” He smiles lazily and swoops his face lower to steal a kiss from her lips. “I actually got lost on my way to Mizuhara Kiko’s dressing room.”  
  
“Jun-san!”  
  
He laughs and steals another kiss. “You’re adorable.”  
  
“Flattery won’t help,” Satomi huffs, sticking out her tongue and rolling away to the edge of the bed. “I’m still mad at you.”  
  
“I’ll tell you the real reason if you come back.”  
  
She eyes him warily but scoots a tiny bit closer. “You may proceed.”

“You’ve got to come closer than _that_.”

Satomi pouts, but wriggles another tiny bit closer.  
  
“So, yeah, I know. Everyone’s attention should have been on Odette and Sigfried and their impassioned declarations of love, of their desire to die together rather than ever part. And yet…”  
  
“And yet?”  
  
“And yet one of the other swan maidens caught my attention. A swan who, in the midst of tragedy, could not keep this radiant smile off her face. I thought…I thought I really needed to meet this swan.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“This swan who smiles even as Odette and her prince condemn themselves to the bottom of the lake. This very sadistic swan.”  
  
“Hey! I wasn’t! That!” Satomi stutters, protests, and Jun breaks out into laughter.  
  
Satomi reaches both hands to mess with his hair, but he ducks under the covers and trails sloppy kisses all along her stomach, making her gasp with laughter. “Unfair!” she cries, scrambling for the covers and taking them with her as she rolls clean off the bed. He leaps off the bed and reaches her before she untangle herself from the sheets, scoops her up and tosses her back onto the bed. He has that look on his face that means he’s about to kiss her senseless, but then there’s a knock at the door and he frowns.  
  
“Did you order something?”  
  
Satomi shakes her head  
  
The knocking persists.  
  
“Lend me your sheet?”  
  
Satomi giggles but complies, watches him wrap the sheet around his waist before scrambling under the comforter as he heads for the door.  
  
“Hello—?”  
  
“Matsujun, what the hell were you thinking?!”  
  
“Hey, don’t go in there…”  
  
Satomi shrieks as an unfamiliar man barges into the room. She brings the comforter closer to her body as he turns away, adjusts his glasses, and then sighs. “Really, Matsujun, really? All this fuss for a girl?”  
  
“Jun-san, what is he…?”  
  
“You were due back in Japan ten days ago. _Ten days_! Do you know many appearances you’ve missed? The public is in an uproar, everyone is seriously pissed off, and you’re holed in a fancy hotel with some London bimbo—”

Jun’s hands are on the stranger’s collar before Satomi can utter a sound. “Don’t call her a bimbo,” he says coolly, just before the sheet drops.  
  
Satomi covers her mouth with her hands.  
  
The stranger rolls his eyes and pushes Jun off of him, dusts off the front of his shirt and adjusts his collar so that it’s perfectly back in place. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”  
  
“Kaname-kun, will you just—”  
  
“No, Matsujun, _you_ just—just!” Kaname roars, poking him in the chest. “Get dressed! We’re going back to Japan tomorrow!”  
  
He marches halfway across the room before turning back, clearing his throat and bowing in Satomi’s direction. “I truly am sorry about earlier, ma’am, please accept my sincerest apologies.” He then turns quickly on his heel and leaves the room, closing the door carefully behind him.  
  
“Who…what?” Satomi blubbers as Jun sighs and rubs at the back of his head.  
  
“That was Kaname Jun, my agent. He’s a little…prickly, but he has good intentions.”  
  
“Did you really miss a lot of important appearances?” Satomi asks, guiltily.  
  
“Probably.” He frowns and cracks his neck from side to side.  
  
“Do you really have to leave tomorrow morning?”  
  
“Probably.”  
  
“Oh,” Satomi nods, biting her lip. “So this is goodbye.” It’s not like she didn’t see it coming. His life is in Japan and hers is in England.  
  
“Always so eager to say goodbye to me, Satomi-san,” Jun replies, shaking his head.  
  
“I don’t mean to,” Satomi trails off. What is she supposed to say otherwise?  
  
“Satomi-san, I don’t ever do this, and this may sound a little crazy, but…would you ever consider coming back to Japan?”

 

> “I…well…I used to live in Tokyo, you know? And I had a lot of friends growing up, I mean, in the way kids are all friends. During middle school, girls started to have crushes on boys and boys started to have crushes on girls, but I was just happy to just be around my friends.  
>    
>  “Somehow, though…I was an early bloomer, I guess. Boys took notice of me even though I didn’t really notice them back, but the girls did. One day they just…didn’t talk to me much anymore. I couldn’t understand it. But then I started to overhear them…  
>    
>  “They were whispering about me, about the boys who confessed to me, the same boys my friends had crushes on. Even though I never accepted any of the confessions, a divide was drawn that year. It was the same the next year, too. And the next. I would make friends with the girls in my class, but then, slowly, the distance would widen. And somehow…I would be left alone.  
>    
>  “So I begged, begged, begged my parents to move. I couldn’t take anymore. I wanted a fresh start. So we moved to Chiba because of my aunt and uncle. Yuko-san was already in college, but I just thought that, in a new school, things could be different. I wanted things to be different. And things _were_ different. At first.  
>    
>  “Yoko-chan was funny and energetic and loud-mouthed and she defended me when the girls started whispering. She would ask why they were angry at me when they should really be angry at those stupid boys. And I was so…so happy.  
>    
>  “She was friends with Toru-kun in the year above us—they grew up together and always spent time with each other, and the three of us would always walk home together because we lived nearby. I didn’t like boys back then. They were the reason I didn’t have friends, the reason I was never invited out with the girls, but Toru-kun was nice. I never minded hanging out with him because Yoko-chan liked him. He must be a good person.  
>    
>  “Only…”  
>    
>  “Only…?”

_  
  
“_ _You’re happy, aren’t you?”_

 _“That’s impossible.”  
  
“Liar.”_  
  
“I’m home!”  
  
Satomi quickly pauses the video on her laptop and glances up just as Jun walks over to her chair. He stops behind her and she cranes her neck all the way back so that he can kiss her on the lips. “Welcome home.”  
  
“Thanks.” He kisses her again. “How did the interview go?”  
  
“Well, thanks to a certain _glowing_ recommendation from a certain _glowing_ patron of the Takayanagi Ballet Company, although I won’t be able to have a part in their current production run…I will definitely be a part of their next run in three months!”  
  
“Really?” When she nods he wraps his arms around her and hugs her so tight. “I’m so glad. You really deserve it.”  
  
“Thank you,” she says, wrapping her arms over his and holding him closer. Her elbow accidentally hits the space bar and the video continues.  
  
_“You’re in love with me.”  
  
“I _ am _in love.”_  
  
Jun’s face snaps up and he groans. “Must you really watch this?” he asks, burying his face into her neck.  
  
“I’m almost finished with season one!”  
  
“How embarrassing.”  
  
“It’s not embarrassing!”  
  
“It _is_ embarrasing!” He reaches around her to hit pause again. “Watch it when I’m not home!”  
  
“I _was_ , but then you _came_ home!” Satomi grumbles. “So this is clearly all your fault.”

“Would you rather I never came home, then?” he asks, releasing her and raising his eyebrows.

Satomi glances from the Jun in front of her to the Jun on her screen, Domyouji Tsukasa with his puffy, poodle curls. “Only for one more season?”

He furrows his eyebrows.

“Okay, okay!” Satomi sighs, closing her laptop, but not without one last peek at the screen. Domyouji and Makino are silhouettes against the setting sun. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“How come you never dated Mao-chan?”  
  
“It’s Mao-chan now, is it?” Jun replies with an amused smile.  
  
“I’m asking seriously!”  
  
“All right,” he says, sitting on the arm of her chair. “Mao-chan and I…we were together for so long that, by the end of it, I could never picture her romantically, especially not after all those late night filmings and intense kendama competitions. It was like she was more family than anything.” He pauses, furrowing his eyebrows. “Why do you look like I just sunk your ship or something?”  
  
“But you two were so cute together!” she cries. “You overcame so many odds just to be with each other, and, and—”  
  
“You know I’m not really Domyouji,” Jun deadpans. “And she’s not really Makino.”  
  
“O-obviously I realize that,” Satomi sniffs. “But this truly is the love story of the ages. I can’t believe you didn’t fall in love with Mao-chan after all that.”  
  
“A boyfriend might appreciate some jealousy instead of, you know, some weird desire to pawn me off to other girls.”  
  
“I don’t want to pawn you off,” Satomi trails off, staring at the screen. “Wait, really? You would want me to be jealous?” He nods. “Would you get jealous over me?”  
  
“In a heartbeat,” Jun replies seriously. “In fact, I’m pretty jealous of Domyouji these days. You seem much more smitten with him.”  
  
“I’m nooot.” Satomi giggles. “Although, the curly hair may have grown on me.”  
  
“That’s it!” he announces, picking her up and carrying her toward the bathroom. “You are taking a bubble bath with me right now.”  
  
“But I hate getting pruny,” Satomi moans, though it doesn’t stop her from throwing her arms around Jun’s neck.  


 

 

> “Only one day, I was staying behind to finish my homework…and Toru-kun confessed to me. And even Yoko-chan…even she couldn’t stand to be around me after that.”  
>    
>  “…”  
>    
>  “So that’s why I know that it’s possible Masami-chan might have abandoned me, too. I met her in ballet school, which she quit early on, and we mostly stayed friends through email. But if we saw each other more than once every few months, or if we had attended school together…  
>    
>  “Anyway, that was the ultimate reason I chose London. I knew I had nothing to lose by leaving.”  
>    
>  “So…your problem was that you were too pretty?”  
>    
>  “Don’t make light of it! I didn’t ask to…I didn’t…see, this is why I don’t like talking about it. You don’t get it. You don’t understand that kind of loneliness. Talking with people, making friends, it comes so naturally to you, so easily. You have a way of drawing people toward you that I…that I’ve always envied.”

  
  
The Takayanagi Ballet Company is everything and nothing like the Royal Ballet Company. The stage is smaller, a little less grand, but it’s familiar in its essence, in energy. She is a swan again, so many months later, and her blood thrums in her veins. She can’t keep the smile off her face throughout the entire performance, even when Odette follows Sigfried into the depths of the lake.

She’s wiping the sweat off her face with a hand towel when someone taps her on the shoulder. “Ishihara-san, there’s someone at the door for you.”  
  
Satomi blinks, but makes her way to the door, opens it to find a giant bouquet of vibrant lilies in the hands of none other than Matsumoto Jun.  
  
“You didn’t have to…you said you were filming today!” Satomi laughs, unable to keep the smile off her face as she takes the bouquet and hugs it close to her chest.  
  
“Ishihara Satomi-san,” he says, pulling off his sunglasses with a mischievous smile on his lips, “I assure you I don’t usually do this, but would you do me the honor of having dinner with me?”  
  
After a bit of cajoling, Satomi manages to get Jun to cancel his reservations at a fancy restaurant and they end up eating at Satomi’s favorite ramen stand, a tiny shack whose owner is a sleepy old man with bad eyesight.

“Are you sure this is what you want to eat?” Jun asks, pulling back a dusty stool for her with a dubious frown. “This is a celebration.”

“I can’t think of any place better!”

Jun polishes off his bowl quickly and even orders an extra helping of noodles, all while completely ignoring Satomi’s smug grin. He thanks the owner and places down a few bills for the meal, stands and checks his watch. “Ah, I should get going.”

“Going? Going where?” Satomi pouts, causing Jun to immediately swoop down and kiss her.

“I need to go shopping for a segment I’m doing tomorrow. Something about mannequins and what to wear on a first date. You want to come with me?”  
  
Satomi grins and shakes her head.  
  
“I didn’t think so,” he says, kissing her one last time. “I’ll be back later. Wait up for me?”  
  
Satomi nods, watches as dons his shades and makes his way into the crowded streets outside.  
  
“Your husband is a lucky man,” the ramen owner remarks. Satomi giggles.  
  
“O-oh, no. He’s not my husband.”  
  
“No?” The old man shakes his head. “He sure has the look of a man in love, though.” He squints a little and frowns. “You know, he actually kind of looks like the man in this newspaper here.” He points to the paper left on the far side of the counter. Satomi lets out a little gasp at the sight.

It _is_ Jun in the paper. And Satomi there next to him. Holding hands.

“Matsujun and Mystery Woman’s Secret Rendezvous!” the headline reads in bold characters.

“Would you…mind if I took this with me?”

 

> “But that’s not true, Satomi.”  
>    
>  “What’s not?”  
>    
>  “It’s not easy for me either.”  
>    
>  “Don’t try to make me feel better.”  
>    
>  “I’m not. Look, remember how I told you that even though I was born in Chiba, I moved away when I was really young?”  
>    
>  “Mm, you said you only moved back in time for high school, like me.”  
>    
>  “And you remember why?”  
>    
>  “Your dad changed jobs a lot, right? So he was always moving you from place to place…”  
>    
>  “Yeah, and I hated it. I really hated it. I hated leaving my grandparents and I hated having to move schools, and I hated that my dad could never just stick with one job. But throughout everything, there was one thing that kept me happy.”  
>    
>  “What?”  
>    
>  “Baseball.”  
>    
>  “Baseball? You never mentioned playing baseball.”  
>    
>  “Well, see that’s the thing. I loved baseball, I loved watching it, loved collecting cards, and I wanted nothing more than to be a baseball player…”  
>    
>  “So why…?”  
>    
>  “I tried out for the baseball team at my second elementary school…and I remember swinging the bat, running for first base and then…waking up the next day in the hospital.”  
>    
>  “Ehh?!”  
>    
>  “Pneumothorax was the diagnosis.”

  
  
  
“I’m back!”

“W-welcome back!” Satomi exclaims, slamming her laptop shut. Jun raises an eyebrow. “Were you watching the second season?”

“Noooo,” Satomi replies, averting her gaze. “Of course not.”

“You are an awful liar,” Jun laughs, ruffling her hair.

“I’m not lying,” she insists, but fends off his prying hands from her laptop. “Anyway, guess what.”

“What?”

“Kiritani-san is pregnant.”

“Kiritani-san? Oh, that’s great.” Jun blinks. “Who’s Kiritani-san?”

“The swan princess.” Satomi’s smile grows as Jun’s eyes widen and his arms are around her at once, spinning her around and around.

“You got the lead?!”

“I got the lead!”

“I’m so proud of you!”  
  
“Thank you! But put me down already, my head is spinning!” He does and Satomi feels dizzy but elated. “I’m even going to get interviewed for a show.”

“Oh, what show?”  
  
“Um…NEWS something Japan…wait, the director texted it to me.” Satomi scrolls through her phone until she finds it. “Ah! Himitsu no Nippon-chan. Have you heard of it?”  
  
“Doesn’t sound familiar,” Jun replies, tapping his finger against his chin. “But I’m sure it’ll be great.”  
  
“They interview people in different industries to uncover secrets, or something like that? There’s no clear summary of the show online…” Satomi glances at her laptop and then shakes her head. “Anyway, what are you doing tonight? Should we get dinner to celebrate? Ramen?”  
  
“Ah.” Jun frowns, shaking his head. “Sorry. I already made plans with Riisa-chan. I’m doing another one of those mannequin segments and she said she’d help me pick out an outfit.”  
  
“Oh. I’ll go! I’ll go!” Satomi says, standing. Matsujun laughs and kisses her quickly.  
  
“You hate shopping.”  
  
“I don’t hate it.”  
  
“Don’t worry, I won’t force you to come.”  
  
“B-but…”  
  
“We’ll celebrate tomorrow, okay? I’m off.” Jun waves with both hands before he leaves, shutting the door and locking it behind him.  
  
“Bye…” Satomi says, staring after him. She turns back to her laptop and opens the browser.  
_  
Ishihara Satomi? Who the heck is that?!  
  
She’s the slut dating Matsujun-sama. OUR Matsujun-sama.  
  
Apparently they’re living together. Yuck!_

_She’s not even that good at dancing—I went to that first performance and she sucked!!!_

_How did someone like that get the lead?_

_Pfft. She’s sleeping with the director, obviously._

_Ugh. She’s going to break Matsujun-sama’s heart AND ruin his career._

_Don’t worry, he’ll get bored of her soon and dump her.  
  
Yeah, he can date anyone but her.  
  
What about Naka Riisa? They have SUPER chemistry together in the drama.  
  
Ahhh, I love her! So much better than this skank from who knows where._

> “Pneumothorax? But you run around all the time…”  
>    
>  “Well, I had a surgical procedure done, so I’m in better condition than I used to be. But I was really weak back then. I was in and out of the hospital all the time. No baseball. No saxophone. I could barely do any after school activities without coming close to passing out. And my father’s work continued to move us around everywhere.  
>    
>  “So at some point, between all the hospital visits and school moves, I sort of…forgot how to talk to kids. I was always moving in halfway through the term, and everyone already had their own friends. When they asked me to play with them, but I had to decline, they said I was no fun. When I tried to talk to them, they would call me weird. And eventually I would have to take days off from school to stay in the hospital, and all the kids would start to avoid me. Heh, they started calling me Frankenstein. And eventually…I just didn’t want to try anymore. Animals were much better company. They listened and they never judged you or called you any names.”  
>    
>  “…So then what happened?”  
>    
>  “We moved back to Chiba. My mom said that part of the reason I wasn’t getting any better was all the stress from our living situation, so she finally got my dad to agree to settle down. And so he decided to open Keikarou.  
>    
>  “I hated it. I hated _him_. I hated that my dad could just make such huge decisions on a whim and I hated even more that he didn’t just open up a restaurant in the first place. In the beginning, when the business was suffering, we would only eat food from the restaurant because otherwise the ingredients would spoil, and to this day I hate everything except for my mom’s mapo tofu…  
>    
>  “But I had another attack and had to stay at home for a few weeks, and the first day of school flew by. And…I don’t know. I just didn’t have the heart to try again.”  
>    
>  “And then what?”  
>    
>  “And then…someone came to visit me. Maki-chan.”  
>    
>  “Maki-chan?”  
>    
>  “She dropped off three weeks of homework and said she would help me out if I needed it. She said she hoped she would see me back in school again…”  
>    
>  “Sounds very like Maki-chan.”  
>    
>  “Mm, but here’s the thing. It started with one person, and it doesn’t even matter if it was just a passing thing to say to me, if she was only saying it to be nice. I needed those words at that time. Through Maki-chan I found the courage to go back to school again, but I had to make that decision by myself. And because I did, I got to know her and Nino and so many other friends. So it has nothing to do with me, Satomi. Really. It’s not some magic ability I have.”

  
  
  
“Is this okay?” she bursts out suddenly, just before they get into bed. Jun glances at her.  
  
“You want to sleep on this side of the bed instead?”  
  
“No, no,” Satomi frowns, shaking her head. “I mean this. Us. Is this okay?”  
  
“What do you mean?” He sits on the bed and pats the space next to him, but she continues to stand.  
  
“Am I getting in the way?”  
  
“You’re not even on the bed.”  
  
“Of your _career_ ,” Satomi bursts out. “Is it true you’re in a lot of trouble with your company? That you could get fired any day now?”  
  
“Satomi-chan…”  
  
“I’m not stupid. I’ve seen all the newspapers and articles. I can deal with people calling me names, I can, but I can’t stand the idea that I’m ruining your life.” she says finally, tears pooling down her face. “We can’t stay together.”  
  
“Hey, hey,” Jun says, shaking his head and pulling her towards him. She can’t look him in the eye so she buries her head in his chest and sniffles all over him. He lets her cry until she’s all cried out, and then raises her head to look him in the eye. “I love you.”  
  
“But what if love isn’t enough? Your company doesn’t allow you to date—but you never even told me that much!”

“Well, I didn’t think it was important…”

“ _Didn’t think it was important_?!” Satomi sobs. “If your company won’t even let anyone…”  
  
“I mean, I guess I could knock you up.”  
  
“ _What_?”  
  
“The only guys in the company who got to stay with their girlfriends got them pregnant first. I guess if we did that, we could stay together. Get married.”  
  
Satomi pushes off his chest and shakes her head. “What are you talking about? That’s not—marriage isn’t something to joke about!”  
  
Dead silence. Satomi rubs her sleeves over her eyes and pushes off the bed. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight and move out by tomorrow.”  
  
“Satomi—”  
  
“If I can’t take everything, I’ll give you my address to deliver it to me.”  
  
“Sato—oi!”  
  
His arms are around her and they feel so warm, but they’re also crushing her and she can’t breathe. “I’m sorry. It was a joke.”  
  
“It wasn’t a good joke at all. It doesn’t even count as a joke.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
She sniffs.  
  
“I meant it, though. N-not the knocked up part.” He groans and rests his head helplessly against her shoulder. “I mean getting married. I want to marry you, agency be damned.”  
  
“This isn’t romantic,” Satomi hiccups.  
  
“But I’m telling the truth. Marry me, Ishihara Satomi. Stay with me forever.”  
  
“…Okay.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_My image is slipping  
_ _but your memory is gripping it,  
_ _this is my breath in your lungs…_


	5. One (Hush)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU. Life is about chances and choices. (For history’s sake, would you please take notice?)

 

> “You haven’t said anything in a while, are you okay?”
> 
> “I was just wondering when you got to be so wise, Masaki.”  
>    
>  “Excuse you, I happen to remember a certain somebody calling me a genius before.”  
>    
>  “I wasn’t calling you a genius…that’s the name of your show.”  
>    
>  “Hey, _that_ —I’m good at lots of smart things!”  
>    
>  “Name one.”  
>    
>  “Math!”  
>    
>  “Pffft.”  
>    
>  “No I’m serious. I was a math major!”  
>    
>  “Liar.”  
>    
>  “I am not lying! You can ask _anyone_. Here, take my phone.”

_**  
  
One (Hush)**_  
“I’d really like to work with you, Aiba-san,” Sho says, offering his hand, a bright smile on his face. And Aiba knows, he knows that this is impossible, a once in a lifetime chance, one that he will never have probably _ever_ again. But…  
  
Aiba shakes his head. “I…I’m so sorry. I mean, I can’t even begin to describe how amazing this opportunity sounds.”

“So then—”

“But I don’t think I can accept.”  
  
Sho almost trips in shock, Koichi crosses his arms, but Johnny simply raises his eyebrows. “Why?”  
  
“I think…there’s someone else who would be much better as Himitsu no Nippon-chan’s new co-host.”

“What do you mean what was your major? Did you forget? Idiot. You studied math.”  
  
“See! Although Nino didn’t have to call me an idiot. Give me that, I’m going to text poop emoticons back to him.”  
  
“B-but really? Math? _You_?”  
  
“And yet the peafowls you were completely okay with.”  
  
“You just don’t give off the impression of being good with numbers…”  
  
“Yeah, well, if we’re talking about not living up to expectations, for someone who called herself DoM the first time we met, you sure take a lot of sadistic pleasure in torturing me.”  
  
“What does that even—when did I—”  
  
“Coming to this lighthouse. The _boom, boom, boom, creeeeeee._ Remember?!”  
  
“I didn’t plan the _boom, boom, boom, creeeeeee_. It was just a happy coincidence…”  
  
“Sheesh. Talk about the pot calling the kettle tea.”  
  
“…What?”  
  
“You know the expression. Like, you’re saying I didn’t live up to my first impression, but you also didn’t…”  
  
“I…yes, but I don’t think that’s how the expression goes, Masaki.”  
  
“…You sure?”

“Free dinner and you get to keep your friend sounds like a good deal to me.”  
  
Satomi bites her lip and glances from Masami’s eager face to Matsumoto’s disarming smile. “I…” she trails off, before shaking her head. “Thank you so much for the offer, Matsumoto-san, but I think my friend really needs me right now.”  
  
“I admire your loyalty,” he replies, chuckling a bit, and looking every bit charming and graceful even as Masami screeches behind her, “We are no longer friends!”  
  
“Have a wonderful night.” He bows gallantly, replaces his sunglasses, and then he’s gone.  
  
“You are the absolute worst,” Masami deadpans at once, staring after him.  
  
Satomi rolls her eyes. “Come on, let’s get some dinner in you.”

She offers Masami her arm and, after an excruciatingly drawn-out sigh, Masami finally accepts. “But we are still not friends.”

 

> “We should get going.”  
>    
>  “Mm, in a bit. Can we just stay here a little longer?”  
>    
>  “Sure.”  
>    
>  “…”  
>    
>  “Hey, Satomi?”  
>    
>  “Yeah?”  
>    
>  “Do you hear that?”  
>    
>  “The ocean?”  
>    
>  “No, just…hush for one second and listen.”  
>    
>  “To—?”  
>    
>  “I LOVE ISHIHARA SATOMI!”  
>    
>  _Satomi, Satomi, Satomi…_  
>    
>  “Ah, what, why—what are you saying all of a sudden?!”  
>    
>  “I LOVE HER SO MUCH!”  
>    
>  _So much, so much, so much…_  
>    
>  “What are you, crazy?”  
>    
>  “CRAZY IN LOVE!”  
>    
>  _Love, love love…_  
>    
>  “Ahh, you’re so cheesy it hurts!”  
>    
>  “But you love it!”  
>    
>  “Maybe.”  
>    
>  “Maybe?”  
>    
>  “Possibly.”  
>    
>  “Possibly?!”  
>    
>  “Okay, I do. I love you, crazy man. Now can we go?”  
>    
>  “Sure! I’m looking forward to finally meeting your parents.”

  
  
“You—what—argh!” Becky blubbers as she tackles Aiba into a hug.  
  
“Wha—?” Aiba replies, blinking. “What’s gotten into you, Becky?”  
  
“Becky-sa—no. No call me whatever you want, I can’t believe you did this!”  
  
“Did what?”  
  
Becky steps back, frowning. “Did you or did you not tell Johnny-san that I would be the perfect co-host for HNN?”  
  
“Oh, that? Yeah.”  
  
Becky squeaks and hugs him again. “I knew it! I can’t believe it! I didn’t even tell you I wanted it!”  
  
“Becky—air,” Aiba wheezes.  
  
“Ah, sorry! I’m just so—did you know the super secret guest for the premiere is going to be Matsumoto Jun? The Matsumoto Jun— _Matsuchuun-sama_. He’s in the studio now. _We are breathing the same air_!” she sighs, clutching at her heart. “The girls on the forums are going to have an absolute fit!”

“Becky-san! Makeup!”

“Ah, gotta go. Makeup!” Becky repeats with a silly little smile. “But let’s get dinner tonight, okay? My treat!”  
  
Filming goes off without a hitch—except for Becky making intense googly eyes at Jun for the entire show. After filming wraps, she tells Aiba to wait for her by the back entrance so they can grab some dinner. He’s checking a text message from his father when there’s a tap at his shoulder.  
  
“Ah, you’re Aiba Masaki-san, right?”  
  
Aiba blinks because Matsumoto Jun—The Matsumoto Jun—is talking to him. His mother would have a heart attack.  
  
“Um, yes. That’s right.”  
  
“You’re really good with animals, aren’t you?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Becky-san mentioned it to me after filming wrapped. I’ve been offered a position on a variety show dealing with animals…but my schedule doesn’t really permit it. So I was wondering if you might be interested?”  
  
“What? Me? Really?” Aiba replies, slack-jawed. Just a few months ago he was jobless, and now, suddenly, two job offers in the span of two days?  
  
“Yeah. It’s for a show called Tensai! Shimura Doubutsuen.”  


 

> “So, Aiba Masaki, the next time you tell someone about the Inubosaki Lighthouse, what are you going to tell them?”  
>    
>  “I guess…I’ll tell them a love story.”  
>    
>  “That really is the best kind of story, huh?”

  
  
“I still can’t believe you turned down dinner with Matsuchuun-sama!” Masami wails before stuffing her face into her pillow.  
  
Satomi rolls her eyes and throws some popcorn at her. “I can’t believe you would really rather I left you all alone in a city you’ve just arrived in, instead of hanging out with you!”  
  
“But it was _Matsuchuun-sama_!”  
  
Satomi laughs and shakes her head. “I will admit that he is very handsome in this drama. But the curls really don’t do much for me. They’re so silly-looking.”  
  
“Satomi, you are an absolute waste of the perkiest boobs I’ve ever seen and the poutiest lips I’ve yet to kiss.”  
  
“…What?”  
  
“We need to find you a man!”  
  
Satomi coughs. “I’m more interested in hearing about the guy you’re being set up with.”  
  
“Oh, him?” Masami tosses some popcorn in her mouth and shakes her head. “Nah, I don’t think he’s my type at all. He sounds so stiff and proper. Besides…isn’t it a little strange to be set up by your ex-boyfriend?”  
  
“Normally? Yes. When it comes to you and Ninomiya-kun, though…somehow it makes sense.” Satomi laughs. “From what you’ve told me about him, he seems to knows you and your taste well, after all.”  
  
“Yeah, but he might also set me up with a complete bore just for shits and giggles.”  
  
“You would do the same.” Satomi nods sagely, ignoring Masami’s glare. “But what if he’s nice? You always said you wanted to date a nice, normal guy.”  
  
Masami blinks. “ _I_ did?”

“You did. You said something about growing up, taking chances, making choices—none of this sounds familiar to you at all, does it?”

“That depends, was I drunk?”

“Masami!”

Masami sighs and chews on her bottom lip. “I’ll think about it.”

Satomi brightens. “By the way, didn’t you say your friend was coming in tomorrow? Shouldn’t we sleep soon?”  
  
“Nah, she suddenly canceled. Said something big happened and she’d tell me all about it later.”  
  
“Oh!” Satomi grins. “So play the next episode?”  
  
“Most definitely.”  
  
It’s nearly four in the morning by the time Masami has passed out on her bed again. Satomi yawns and draws the blankets over Masami’s shoulders before slipping inside the sheets next to her. Masami smacks her lips sleepily and cuddles closer for warmth. “Hey, Miitan?”  
  
“Yeah, Macchan?”  
  
“Ever consider coming back to Japan?”  
  
“I’ve thought about it…why?”  
  
“Japanese ballet is really advancing in the world.”  
  
“Is this your way of saying you miss me?” Satomi teases, poking Masami on the cheek.  
  
Masami just snuggles closer. “I just want you to be happy.”  
  
“Mm…happy…”

 

> “Hello, Satomi? Are you at home now?”  
>    
>  “Mm, I just got back.”  
>    
>  “Okay, good, I need you to do something for me.”  
>    
>  “Sure. What is it—where are you?”  
>    
>  “I’m at stuck at work, but I have a really important package coming today. Do you mind receiving it and putting a seal on it for me?”  
>    
>  “Eh? What time is it coming? It’s already six…I was going to run to the grocery store to buy some ingredients…”  
>    
>  “No! You can’t leave! It’s super important, okay? Absolutely don’t go anywhere! Order food if you have to!”  
>    
>  “Huh? Okay? Work hard!”  
>    
>  “Thanks! I’m counting on you!”  
>    
>  _Click._  
>    
>  “Bye…ah, he already hung up. Hmm, I need to find his seal…seal…”  
>    
>  _Ding-dong!_  
>    
>  “Already?!”  
>    
>  _Ding-ding-ding-dong!_  
>    
>  “Ah, hello, if you could give me just a mome—eh? Aren’t you…?”  
>    
>  “Excuse me, ma’am. Could you please put a seal on this?”  
>    
>  “What are you—isn’t this a…marriage registration…?!”  
>    
>  “So…would you please put a seal on this?”  
>    
>  “Masaki…I—no.”  
>    
>  “No?!”  
>    
>  “No. I mean! Not _no_ no. No as in I couldn’t find the seal!”  
>    
>  “O-oh! _That_ no. Whew!”  
>    
>  “Let me go find it. I’m sure it’s in this drawer…or this one…or this one…”  
>    
>  “Satomi…”  
>    
>  “No, no! I can find it. I just need to…um…”  
>    
>  “Satomi—Satomi, hey. Hey. I would be okay with just an answer for now. More than okay, actually. Like, I think my heart’s been stopped for the past three minutes…”  
>    
>  “B-but…”  
>    
>  “What? You were mumbling, I couldn’t hear.”  
>    
>  “You didn’t really _ask_ …”  
>    
>  “I _did_ ask. You just said no!”  
>    
>  “No, I didn’t!”  
>    
>  “You just said it again!”  
>    
>  “No, no, no, no, no!”  
>    
>  “Man, I knew I should have gone with the oden idea…”  
>    
>  “I’m sorry, I won’t say…you know. So, please? Ask me one more time?”  
>    
>  “You really won’t say it?”  
>    
>  “N—I won’t.”  
>    
>  “Okay. Ahem. Ishihara Satomi, will you—”  
>    
>  “Yes! Yes I will!”  
>    
>  “I was going to ask if you wanted to go eat oden with me…”  
>    
>  “Masaki!”

  
  
“Aiba Masaki, where are you?! Pick up your phone, please! I can’t…I can’t believe you’re doing this to a bride on her wedding day. I know…I know you’ve been going through some stuff, but it’s been two weeks and I haven’t heard from you at all. Don’t…please just pick up your phone and get here. I need you. I can’t do this without you…I—hold on there’s someone at the door.”  
  
“Hey,” Aiba says breathlessly. “Sorry, I—”  
  
“Aiba Masaki, you absolute idiot! Where have you been?!” Becky cries, flinging herself into his arms and sobbing all over his jacket.  
  
“Ah, sorry. I lost my cell phone and—”  
  
“For two weeks?!”  
  
“Well, my friend asked me for some help in a lab, he’s researching the mating habits of— “  
  
“I don’t care!” Becky hiccups into a sob and Aiba laughs and pats her on the back.  
  
“Sorry, sorry, but I made it in time, right? I’m more than ten minutes early, Becky.”  
  
“It’s Becky-san.” Becky sniffs. “I can’t believe I chose _you_ of all people to walk me down the aisle.”  
  
“You’re all about poor life decisions, eh?”

“Just be thankful I am not all about punching you in the face for scaring me like that,” Becky threatens. “Yet.”

“Hey, be angry with the man who left you into my clumsy hands!” Aiba yelps, taking a cautious step back.  
  
“My father’s paying for half of this wedding. _And_ he picked up his phone to apologize to me about not being able to fly in from London.”

“Fair point,” Aiba coughs, before finally noticing that Becky is in her wedding dress. “You look nice, by the way. Except for the, you know, black tears…”  
  
Becky doubles over in laughter. “Oh, well, gee, thanks!”  
  
“Sorry. I didn’t think you would be that worried.”  
  
“No,” Becky sighs, sitting down on the sofa in the room. “It’s not just you. I’ve been on an emotional rollercoaster lately. Sometimes I—I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t be sure this is the right choice. I-is it?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Yes.” Becky sniffs. “I’m so confused I’m asking you!”  
  
He laughs. “You love him, right?”  
  
“Yeah, but he’s just so pretty,” Becky sighs, folding her hands into her lap. “I sometimes don’t know if that’s clouding my judgment.”

“You did once say you were only interested in the artistic type.”

“His face _is_ art.”

Aiba grins and punches her in the shoulder. “Then that’s everything, isn’t it?”

“But what if he—what if he regrets it, though?” Becky asks, eyes wide and watery. “What if he’s in the room across the hall having the same doubts? What if—”  
  
“Becky, hey, _Becky_ ,” Aiba says, taking her arms in his before she can tear her dress or something with her flaily arm movements. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only person who’s ever gotten him to hang out in his pajamas and play board games on a Friday night. If that’s not true love, then what is?”  
  
Becky laughs and shakes her head.  
  
“And I’ll be here to give you away to him.”  
  
“As long as you don’t run off to your crazy experiments again,” Becky snaps, before her eyes soften. “This really wasn’t about _that_?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Asami-san’s engagement. You were together for three years and then…I figured you would be really broken up about it.”  
  
Aiba blinks. “Oh, did she get engaged?”

“Y-you didn’t know?! And you’re okay with finding out about it like this?!”

“I loved Asami, but it just…didn’t work out. And if she’s happy now, I’m happy for her.” Aiba pauses. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t find another date to your wedding. I know how long you worked on your table arrangements, and that an odd number at a table is unlucky…”  
  
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I already invited someone else.”  
  
“Oh good.” Aiba smiles, before frowning. “Wait! What if I _had_ found a date?”  
  
Becky raises an eyebrow.  
  
“I could have found a date!”  
  
“You were incommunicado for two weeks.”  
  
“Point taken.”

Becky rolls her eyes and pushes him toward the door. “Okay, I need to get my makeup fixed. You go now—but don’t go wandering off again and miss the wedding, or I _will_ commit patricide.”  
  
“Okay, okay. See you down the aisle.” He grins, shooting her a thumbs-up.  
  


 

> “What will my mother say? What will my dad—oh, my dad’s going to be so upset that his little girl is going away.”  
>    
>  “Your mother will say, ‘It’s about damn time, and at least it’s with someone as my-paced as my little Mimi-chan,’ or something like that.”  
>    
>  “She wouldn’t…wait, what? How did you know my mom calls me her Mimi-chan…?”  
>    
>  “That’s what she called you when I asked for your hand in marriage.”  
>    
>  “Ehhhh?! When? What? How?”  
>    
>  “Why do you think I really wanted to visit Chiba?”  
>    
>  “Ehhh?!”

  
  
Satomi doesn’t know what to expect from a wedding in Japan. She doesn’t know what to expect from a wedding at all, really. It’s the first one she’s ever been invited to, and though she wishes she were a little less jetlagged, she figures she can’t really complain. Most people can only dream of being invited to a celebrity wedding.

She wanders into the dining room, judging by the rows of round tables before her. It’s a great space with high ceilings, flooded with glittering lights. An arrangement of sunflowers and lilacs sits at the center of every round table, and there is just something so bright, so perfect about the entire atmosphere.

At the entrance is a marble counter lined neatly with little namecards. Satomi finds hers and flips it open. Table three. She sets it back down and scans the tables to see which she will be sitting at. It’s on the left, close to the stage. She only makes it two steps before someone calls, “Miitan!”  
  
“Ah, Maachan!” Satomi grins as Masami barrels into her for a hug.  
  
“You look absolutely gorgeous—how can you look this good while still being jetlagged? So unfair!” Masami says, crossing her arms. “Also, what are you doing in here? I thought I told you to meet me by the entrance.”  
  
“Ah, sorry, I thought maybe you had already come in. You said you absolutely could not be late.”  
  
“I know,” Masami mutters. “But thanks to a _certain someone_ , we’re already an hour late!”  
  
“You were the one who couldn’t decide on a dress and ended up taking the other in the trunk…”  
  
“Did I say you could talk?” Masami snaps, crossing her arms without glancing behind her once.  
  
“Ah, you must be…?” Satomi trails off as the man next to her fuming friend raises his hand.  
  
“Sakurai Sho.” His eyes are twinkling as he shakes her hand, and Satomi wonders how Masami can ever have so many things to complain about. He seems so perfectly charming. So perfectly nice. So perfectly mismatched with her short-tempered Masami. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Satomi-san. I’ve heard so many things about you.”  
  
“Ah, likewise,” Satomi replies, taking his hand and shaking it back.  
  
“Only bad things I suppose,” Sho replies, and laughs when it seems to show on Satomi’s face.  
  
“You, shut up! I need to go to Becky-chan’s room and do some damage control. Go—go be annoying somewhere else, okay?”  
  
“Mm,” Sho replies, eyes twinkling again and Masami’s lower lip trembles.  
  
“I said go.”  
  
“Mm.”  
  
“Now!”  
  
“Mm.”  
  
Masami’s balls her hands at her side, mouth twitching, before taking Satomi by the arm and dragging her along. “Fine, I’ll go first!”  
  
“Mm!”  
  
“Ugh,” Masami mutters, shaking her head. “I _hate_ when he does that.”  
  
“He sure knows your biggest weakness, huh?” Satomi teases, and Masami bares her teeth.  
  
“The way he says it is just so…ugh! It’s so hard to stay mad at him when all I want to do is jump him in the bathroom.” Masami turns to Satomi with a serious expression on her face. “I mean it. I want to milk this anger a little longer, so whatever you do, do _not_ let me out of your sight or I _will_ drag him into the bathroom to have my way with him.”  
  
“Why specifically the bath—no, never mind, don’t want to know,” Satomi says, shaking her head. “Let’s just concentrate on the wedding!”  
  
“Well first we have to concentrate on the sobbing mess of a bride…”  
  
“Sobbing?!”

 

 

> “I still can’t believe it. The ring is perfect. The proposal was perfect. Everything is so perfect right now.”  
>    
>  “That proposal was perfect?!”  
>    
>  “It was perfect because it was so…so you and me.”  
>    
>  “Like two bumbling idiots in love?”  
>    
>  “Exactly.”  
>    
>  “I could have done without all those no’s, though…”  
>    
>  “Oh, you just—”  
>    
>  “Hush?”  
>    
>  “…You think you’re sooo clever.”  
>    
>  “I think I’m a genius, actually.”  
>    
>  “…”  
>    
>  “A kiss means you agree wholeheartedly, right?”  
>    
>  “…”  
>    
>  “So what do three—no, four—no, six kisses mean?”  
>    
>  “It means hush!”  
>    
>  “You’re showing your DoS tendencies again, Satomi.”  
>    
>  “If you don’t hush and kiss me back already, that’s the only thing I’m showing you tonight, Masaki.”  
>    
>  “…”

  
  
Aiba breaks his promise. He was just looking for the bathroom, honest, not following the delicious scent of food all the way to the dining room, but here he is. He wonders if it’s possible to wheedle the kitchen staff out of an hor d’oeuvre or two, and is about to try his luck when he notices the counter full of neatly arranged namecards all in a row. Well, almost all neat. One is out of place. Becky would have a fit if she could see it, so Aiba flicks the card back into place and frowns. “Ishihara…?”  
  
“Simple, elegant, totally expensive,” someone mutters from just behind him. Someone who sounds suspiciously like…  
  
“Nino? Maki-chan? What are you two doing here?”  
  
“Reconnaissance.” Nino replies, like it’s the obvious answer. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“Uh,” Aiba coughs.  
  
“Food?” Maki laughs when it must show on his face.  
  
“What kind of reconnaissance?” Aiba says, averting the subject.  
  
“For our wedding,” Nino replies, bringing his forefinger to his thumb into the shape of a circle. “Trying to figure out how much everything costs so we can determine what to do.”  
  
“Or more likely what not to do. We don’t have as much,” Maki trails off, forming a circle with her fingers. “Ah, open bar over there.”  
  
“That’s going to cost a lot,” Nino mutters, crunching numbers on his phone.  
  
“But I’m pretty sure no one will come if we don’t have one,” Maki replies, peering over his shoulder. “Ah, you missed a zero.”  
  
“Maybe we can crowdsource our wedding. If they want booze, they can pay for their booze.”

“But then we don’t get presents.”

“Ah, presents!”  
  
“Hey, wait,” Aiba cuts in, furrowing his eyebrows. “How do you guys even know Becky?”  
  
“Uh, duh? I was the one who introduced you,” Nino says. “Remember the job you got aaaaall thanks to me, that led you to your dream job aaaaall thanks to me, and yet you still haven’t given me anything for it.”  
  
“Except a long-term investment of 6500 in vending machine drinks,” Maki quips before Nino shoots her a look.  
  
“Quiet, you.”  
  
She grins. “Ah, her centerpieces are sunflowers and lilacs! I’m going to go take a look!” Maki walks off to do just that and Aiba shakes his head.

“What a small world,” he mutters. Nino grins and bumps into his shoulder and Aiba grins back and does the same. “So you and Maki-chan are finally starting to plan, huh?”  
  
“Yeah, we figured it was about time.”  
  
“I still can’t believe you two. One day you’re friends, the next day I get a call that you’re engaged!”  
  
Nino chuckles and shrugs his shoulders. “Well, we knew each other for so long it seemed okay to skip a few steps.”  
  
“I didn’t even know you liked her in that way. When did _that_ happen?”

Nino pauses, brings his hand under his chin and glances at Aiba mildly. “Do you remember filling out those future career worksheets in high school?”

“Kind of?”

“They told us to take the whole week to think about our choices, but I filled it out right after it was handed to us. There was only the one thing I really wanted to become in the future, and the other thing I knew I would probably become, but I actually didn’t care what I did, so long as I was making good money doing it.”

“Of course.”

“But, you know Maki-chan. She was really thinking about it. What would make the most money. What would be the most interesting. What is _she_ most interested in, and what happens if she ever changes her mind. What would make her happiest.

“And so, when I really thought about it, I kept thinking…well, money would make me happiest. But beyond that, I wasn’t really sure. The only thing I was sure of was that I couldn’t ever imagine a future without Maki-chan in it.” Nino pauses thoughtfully, before adding, as an afterthought. “That’s probably when I knew.”

“Ehh?! That long ago? Then why didn’t you do something about it before?” Aiba gapes, suddenly recalling a confession from so long ago, him and Maki on the beach

Nino side-eyes him and Aiba blinks. “What?”

“You.”

“What about me?”

“That’s why I didn’t do antyhing.”

“Huh?!”

Nino sighs and shakes his head. “And you never even knew it, either. This is why it’s so hard to compete against idiots…”

“What are you talking about? Compete? For what?”

Nino sighs again. “You’re really going to make me explain it?”

“Explain what?”

“The first time I met Maki-chan was in the park,” Nino says, hands in his pockets, looking over to Maki, who is sniffing a large sunflower with a smile on her face. “She was always there when I went to practice baseball, but I didn’t really pay much attention to her for a long time. But then one day I was too tired to practice swinging so I went to see what the heck she was up to…”

“Which was…?” Aiba prods when Nino seems lost in thought.

“She was collecting giant stag beetles.”

Aiba chokes in horror.

“I screamed and dropped my bat and ran all the way home,” Nino chuckles. “But then the next time I went to the park she was there and she had my bat…but she also had a beetle on her shoulder. And somehow I knew I would never understand this girl. And I never really did, no matter how much time I spent with her. She was always surprising me. But then you came along and you—it’s like understanding her came so naturally to you. I envied you a bit for that.”

“But we never…”

“She told me you confessed to her when she dropped off your homework.”

Ah, right, that. Aiba frowns. “But that didn’t mean anything. You should have told me.”

“It’s not something you can easily say. Besides, it’s not like Maki-chan liked me in that way either.” Maki glances over and waves, and Nino smiles and waves back. “But maybe it worked out for the better. Maybe we needed all that time in between to grow into the kind of people who could be together.”  
  
“That’s surprisingly deep coming from you,” Aiba replies, whistling lowly.

“Well,” Nino laughs as Maki makes her way back over to them. “It’s better than thinking we wasted all this time _not_ being together, yanno?”

 

 

> “Hey, Satomi.”  
>    
>  “Hmm?”  
>    
>  “Remember that day at the lighthouse?”

  
  
“Becky-chan, your face!” Masami cries as Becky greets them at the door of her dressing room. “What did he do now? I will kill A—”  
  
“No, no, these were tears of relief. Mostly. He made it. The perfect Matsumoto-Vaughn wedding is still underway!” Becky sniffles a snot bubble and Satomi reaches for a tissue.  
  
“Who…?” she asks, as Becky gratefully takes the tissue and blows her nose.  
  
“An idiot,” Masami mutters, just as Becky laughs. “My temporary papa.”  
  
Becky snuffles once, presses her eyes closed, before opening them and beaming at Satomi. “Anyway, hello, finally! So nice to meet you, Satomi-chan!” Becky says, bringing her arms around Satomi. “Thank you so much for attending my wedding! Especially on such short notice…”  
  
“Becky-chan is very superstitious,” Masami explains behind her hand. “She thinks a ghost might appear to claim an empty spot if there are an odd number of chairs at a table.”

“Spirit, not ghost,” Becky corrects. “There’s no such thing as ghosts—spirits, on the other hand…”

Satomi doesn’t quite see the difference, but nods anyway. “Well, it was my pleasure, Becky-san. Thank _you_ so much for inviting me. The hall looks wonderful, and you look beautiful.”  
  
Becky guffaws. “With this face?”  
  
“I’ve never seen a more beautiful bride on her wedding day,” Satomi insists, because it’s absolutely true.  
  
“I can’t believe that for a second.” She laughs as Masami begins working on cleaning up Becky’s face.  
  
“By the way, Becky-chan, did you know Satomi-chan over here could have snatched your precious Matsuchuun-sama away long before he met you?”  
  
“Eh?”  
  
“ _Maachan_!” Satomi screeches, horrified. “No, I didn’t. I would never. It never—”  
  
“He asked her to dinner with a bouquet of _gorgeous_ lilies after one of her performances, and he was all ready to sweep her off her feet—only she chose _me_. Can you believe that?!”  
  
“No, that’s not it at all,” Satomi whimpers, shaking her head.

Becky stares hard at her, measuring Satomi through narrowed eyes, before gasping, “They would have been _stunning_ together!”  
  
“Haa?” Satomi breathes, completely bewildered.  
  
“It’s true. Though their children might have trouble in the eyebrow department,” Masami adds, bringing her fingers up to frame Satomi’s face through them.  
  
“Wait, what?” Satomi touches her eyebrows self-consciously.  
  
“Seriously, super stunning!” Becky repeats, hands on her chin.  
  
“Becky-chan! Are you ready for your maid of honor’s pep talk?” someone sing-songs, bursting into the room. She blinks at the scene. “Hmm, Masami-chan and…?”  
  
“Aya-chan! Don’t you think Satomi-chan—ah, Ishihara Satomi, Masami-chan’s childhood super famous ballerina friend, Ueto Aya, my super best friend and most talented wedding dress designer in the whole world,” Becky introduces without skipping a beat. “Anyway, don’t you think Satomi-chan and J would look really, really good together?”  
  
“B-Becky-san?!”  
  
“I can’t see it.” Aya frowns, wrinkling her nose. “Honestly she would look better with you, Becky-chan.”  
  
“Well that was a given,” Masami says with a wicked grin.  
  
They all burst out laughing and Satomi, still completely bewildered, can do nothing but laugh along with them.

 

 

> “I remember.”  
>    
>  “And remember, you said something…something about regrets?”

  
  
“Ready?” Aiba asks, offering his arm.

“No,” Becky replies. The Wedding March begins, but Becky doesn’t take a single step.

“I know you stopped being an assistant director a long time ago, but that’s your cue.”

“Assistant to the…ugh.” Becky shakes her head, before whispering, faintly, “My feet won’t work. Help.”

“Just take a peek down the aisle, Becky. I guarantee your feet will start working again.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because today I’m your papa and I know best.” Aiba grins. “Plus, you’ll see Jun’s face.”

Becky grips onto Aiba’s arm with both hands and leans her whole body ninety degrees to take a look. “He really is so beautiful.”

“You are, too, now come on.”

He walks in step with Becky, one foot at a time down the aisle. He only steps on her foot once, barely grazes it, really, so he counts it as a victory. He releases her to Jun and steps back next to Shun and Sho.

“We are gathered here today…”

_Echo_

Aiba blinks, darts his eyes wildly about the room with a frown. What was that?

“…celebrate the union of Matsumoto Jun and…”

Aiba scans the crowd, but there are only a handful of familiar faces. Meisa and Ohno are somewhere near the back, Ohno apparently having been commissioned to illustrate the entire affair. Koichi is nodding off just off to the side of them. Closer to the center, Maki is clutching Nino’s arm, eyes watery, and even Nino looks like he’s fending off a few tears, and next to Nino is…

“I, Vaughn Rebecca, take Matsumoto Jun…”

She’s dressed in a shimmering blue dress and though there’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary about her, he’s somehow both positive he’s seen her before and never met her in his entire life.

“You may kiss the bride.”

The hall erupts in ecstatic cheers and a few cat calls, but Aiba misses the entire exchange. He only realizes the ceremony is over when Shun nudges him in the back and motions towards the exit. Aiba glances back at the pews, but she’s gone.

He doesn’t understand it, but this feeling, but knows there must be something to it, something important, so he searches the dining area high and low until he spots it. A flash of ocean blue by the bar. He quickly weaves between the crowds to get there but when he surfaces, she is no longer in sight. Instead he finds Masami ordering a glass of whiskey. “Hey.”

“Hey, Aiba,” Masami says, raising her nose at him. “How nice of you to finally make it after worrying Becky-chan sick for two weeks straight.”

Aiba laughs guiltily. “So you heard about that.”

“Just be glad you walked her successfully down the aisle, or I would have punched you in the face.”

“What’s with you girls and punching me in the face?” Aiba mutters. “This is supposed to be a happy occasion!”

Masami stares him down for a few seconds, before relenting. “You’re right. How are you?”

“Good, I’m good,” Aiba replies, licking his lips. “Um, you wouldn’t have happened to have seen that girl in the shiny blue dress, have you?”

Masami puckers her lips and raises her eyebrows. “What girl?”

“Blue dress? Long, curly black hair?”

“That’s about half the girls here, Aiba,” Masami laughs. “Care to be a little more specific?”

Aiba frowns. “You weren’t just talking to her? Right here next to you?”

“I wasn’t talking to anyone, and there was no one here,” she insists.

“But I _saw_ her!”

Masami shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe you’re seeing things.”

“You don’t just _see_ random people who don’t exist,” Aiba mumbles, laughing weakly at the growing look of concern on Masami’s face. “You’re not suggesting that I…I saw a ghost or something, right?”

To his relief, Masami laughs in his face. “Don’t be ridiculous, there’s no such thing as ghosts!”

“Right?!”

“Except…” Masami trails off.

“Except what?”

“Come to think of it…the girl Becky-chan found to take your date’s place at the table couldn’t make it…” Masami’s eyes widen. “Do you think Becky was right and…a spirit came to take the empty place?”

“Spirit?!” Aiba’s stomach drops. “Becky doesn’t believe in ghosts.”

“Well yeah, ghosts are stupid.” Masami rolls her eyes. “But spirits are the real deal. Be careful…they say that if you look a spirit in the eyes, it’ll steal your heart…”

That’s ridiculous, Aiba decides. He orders a drink from the bartender, waves bye to Masami, and marches back to his table. There’s no such things as ghosts _or_ spirits, he decides, taking a large gulp to calm his nerves.

A flash of shimmering, ocean blue.

“Hello.”

Aiba spits all over her face and runs.  
  


 

> “Yeah. I asked you if you had any regrets. But you said you weren’t a very regretful person.”  
>    
>  “Yeah. But I’ve been thinking…”

  
  
Satomi sits very still and tries to process what’s just happened. She has never, ever experienced a reaction like that to a hello. Thankfully no one seems to have noticed that she’s dripping from her face onto the very nice silk tablecloths.

Thankfully, or unthankfully, the first person to notice is Masami, who comes over crying in hysterical laughter.

“Oh my gosh, Miitan, I’m so sorry! I—” she cuts off, unable to contain herself.

“What, just, what?”

“I may have…told him you were a ghost.” Masami snickers, before handing her a handkerchief. “Here, use this.”

“Maachan, why would you do such a thing?” Satomi grumbles, wiping at her face. “That’s mean and now I’m all sticky and ruining Becky-chan’s perfect wedding.”

“I thought it was deserved punishment for the idiot who worried Becky-chan for two weeks straight by going on some scientific bender, before nonchalantly riding in to save the day.” Masami harumphs, crossing her arms. “He gets really freaked out about ghost stories.”

“So do you,” Satomi points out.

“Well, not when _I_ know they’re fake,” Masami mutters, but Satomi can see the gooseflesh pebbling over her arms.

“In any case, next time you want to teach someone a lesson, could you please not involve me?” Satomi grimaces. “Tell Becky-chan I had an emergency…I think I should head home and take a shower.”

“No, no, I’m sorry, it’s my fault. Becky-chan won’t be happy to hear you left so soon.” Masami pauses, before smiling brilliantly. “Ah! I know! You can wear the dress in Nadegata’s car trunk.”

“The dress you deemed beneath you?” Satomi asks with a raised eyebrow.

“ _No_. The dress I thought was too stunning for someone like me.” Masami grins. “I’ll fix up your hair and makeup, too, so no one will ever notice. What do you say?”

Satomi sighs, her plans of passing out on her hotel bed suddenly thwarted. “Okay, but no more telling people I’m a ghost, please.”

“Sure thing.” She winks. “But I can’t promise no more spit-takes at how gorgeous you’ll look. Let’s go!”

“Ah, wait,” Satomi murmurs, motioning to the center of the room. “They’re cutting the cake.”

Becky and Jun stand behind a seven-tiered cake piled high with lavender pearls and edible sunflowers. They’re both holding onto the knife and smiling so wide, pausing for several cameras before finally cutting into the cake. Then Jun takes up a whole slice of cake and presses it completely onto Becky’s face with a cheeky grin. There’s a chorus of gasps, followed by a round of laughter and cheers as Becky smushes her face against his.  
  
“It was a good idea to wait,” Masami sighs, taking Satomi’s arm in hers. “Looks like I’ve got two hot messes to clean up.

   
  


> “If I have just one regret…”

  
  
“Aiba-kun, are you okay?” Maki asks, peering over the bar counter to where Aiba is huddled on the floor.

“I just…I just saw a dead person,” Aiba whispers, hands over his face.

Nino rolls his eyes. “You know, it’s no longer remotely amusing to quote a movie over ten years old, _especially_ when you’re quoting it wrong.”

Aiba jumps up to face them. “No, I’m serious! There’s a spirit here, in this wedding hall,” he hisses.

“Um, excuse me, I’ll have a mizuwari.”

“Sure,” Aiba says quickly, reaching behind the counter for a clean glass.

“Maybe Asami-san’s engagement affected him worse than we imagined,” Maki whispers behind her hand to Nino, who nods pityingly.

“We should put him down and out of his misery.”

“Oi!” Aiba growls, slamming the glass down and sliding it over. “I’m serious. She took up the empty chair next to me and said, ‘Hello,’—all creepy and ghost-like!”

“This isn’t a mizuwari!”

Nino blinks. “And then what happened?”

“I spit my drink on her face and ran away.”

Maki blinks. “You spit your drink _on_ her face?”

“Yes!”

Maki and Nino share a look like they don’t even need words to make fun of him anymore, and he really doesn’t appreciate that. “What?”

Nino sighs patiently. “If you spit a drink _on_ her and not _through_ her, I’m pretty sure she isn’t a ghost.”

“But Masami-chan said…”

Maki covers her mouth with her hand and tries her best to hide her laughter. “Did you forget who Masami-chan is?”

“W-wait! So then you saw her, too? The girl sitting next to you in the pews. She was wearing a blue dress…do you know her?!”

“Blue?” Maki repeats thoughtfully.

Nino slams his fist into an open palm. “Ah! Wait! I think I know who you’re talking about! I thought she looked really familiar—I think she went to Syoyo High School with us.”

“Huh? I don’t remember ever seeing her around…” Maki replies, furrowing her eyebrows.

“She didn’t attend very long, left halfway through first year, maybe?” Nino says, fingers on his temple as if drawing the memory out piece by piece. “She was in the same class as some of the guys on the baseball team, and she rejected every single one of them. They said she was a man-hater.”

“That doesn’t seem very nice.” Maki frowns.

“It’s not like _I_ called her that, it’s just what I heard.”

“Why did she leave?” Aiba asks thoughtfully.

“How should I know? Why don’t you go ask her yourself?” He motions to the door, where she’s re-entered the room with Masami, hair twirled into a bun and dressed in a bright yellow dress.

“Just don’t spit on her face again,” Maki advises, before adding, “Also, apologize for spitting on her face.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Aiba grumbles. “Say, Nino, do you remember her name?”

“Um…what was it now. Ichikawa? Ishida? Ishi…something?”

“Ishihara Satomi.”

“Yeah, do you remember her?” Nino asks, but Aiba just shakes his head, throws down a bar rag, and makes his way back to the table.

“Ishihara Satomi, right?”

Satomi blinks, looks up, and then promptly covers her face with her napkin. “Ah, yes.”

“Ah, I’m sorry about earlier, I didn’t—”

“I know,” Satomi replies, lowering the napkin to peek at him. “You’re not drinking anything right now, are you?”

“No.”

“Okay, good.” Satomi smiles a bit and lowers the napkin completely. “You’re Aiba Masaki, right? Father of the bride?”

“Yeah, something like that,” he laughs. “You look…that’s a nice dress.”

“Thank you.” She laughs sheepishly. “It’s a loaner.”

“I’m sorry for ruining the other one.”

“No, I’m also sorry for Masami-chan. She told me what she did and I…can’t blame you too much for it.”

“Does she always do this kind of stuff to you?” Aiba asks, expecting he knows the answer already.

“I suppose, yes. It’s our relationship. She’s rather DoS whereas I’m DoM,” she murmurs, before her eyes widen and she covers her mouth with both hands. “Uh—that isn’t! I didn’t mean—!”

And Aiba can’t help but do anything other than laugh.

 

> “It would be that…”

  
  
“Wait, you were born the day before Christmas in Chibanishi General Hospital?”

“Yup. My parents were visiting my aunt and uncle and…apparently I was three weeks early. My mom always called me her little Christmas miracle.”

“No. You don’t understand,” Aiba cuts her off seriously. “ _I_ was born in Chibanishi General Hospital on December twenty-fourth.”

“You’re joking!” Satomi gasps. “That’s a third connection after Syoyo High School and London.”

“Those are only place connections,” Aiba replies, scribbling all this down on a napkin. “You also know Masami who dated Nino…”

“But she’s the _only_ person I know.” Satomi laughs, but humors him by watching his frantic chicken scratch.

“But didn’t you say you met Matsujun in London as well? And Masami is dating Sho-chan now. And I worked with both Sho-chan and Becky before…and Nino and Maki-chan went to Syoyo High School and—oh! I met Ohno in London, too!” He puts the pen down and pushes himself away from the table. “I think I just broke my brain.”

“You did your best,” Satomi encourages, before her ears perk. “Oh, this song! I _know_ this song! I haven’t recognized a single one since the dancing started.”

He looks at her and opens his mouth, but whatever he means to say never gets said because a red-faced Becky rushes over and grabs him by the arm. “Aiba-kun! Aiba-kun! You have to teach everyone the dance!”

Aiba blinks. “What dance?”

“You know! The _dance_.” Becky giggles, completely tipsy, and whispers something in his ear.

Aiba groans. “No, please no, don’t make me.”

“But you have to! Think of Caramel-chan!”

Satomi raises her eyebrows. “Carmel-chan? Dance?”

Becky raises her hands to the top of her head. “It’s a dance he made up when one of our dearest friends was sick.”

“But.” Aiba looks at her helplessly, but she simply shakes her head and grins.

“It’s for the bride, you have to,” Satomi says. “I’m looking forward to your dance.”

“All right!” Aiba grumbles as Becky cheers and pulls him toward the dance floor. “But no laughing!” he warns Satomi.

“No promises!”

Becky pushes Aiba all the way to the DJ, who hands him a microphone. “Seven years ago I met Becky—”

“Becky- _san_!” half of the audience cries and Aiba’s eyes widen like dinner plates before he dissolves into laughter. “So Becky and I—and Sho-chan!” He points to Sho, who salutes him in return. “We bonded with a camel named Caramel-chan! This dance is for her. It’s called—caramelldansen!”

He lifts his hands to his head, but just before the music starts, something vibrates in Satomi’s purse. She takes out her cell phone and her eyes widen.

 

> “…I regret not meeting you sooner.”

  
  
“Ahhh, but it’s such a wonderful night. I can’t believe it’s over. We should celebrate more! Bar? Bar?” Maki says, completely pink in the face and tottering along the hallway with her arms out like an airplane’s wings.  
  
“What have you done with Maki-chan?” Aiba accuses, staring pointedly at Nino, who shrugs.  
  
“I bring out the best in her.”  
  
“Aiba! Aiba, you’re coming, right? Nino’s finally going to repay all the money he owes you! Remember, it’s 6500 now.” She pauses, hiccups, and blinks. “Wait, 7300. He stole some money from your wallet to tip the bartender.”  
  
“And she, apparently, exposes the best in me, “ Nino declares, slinging an arm over her shoulders lest she crash into the wall. “The offer is good, though, so let’s do it. I think some of the others wanted to come as well.”  
  
“Yeah, I…”

“What’s wrong?” Nino asks, before a look of understanding crosses his face. “Ah, you’re still thinking about that girl, huh?”

“I wasn’t,” Aiba says slowly, thoughtfully. “But now that you mention it. She just…disappeared. I couldn’t find her for the rest of the night.”

“Maybe she really was a ghost,” Maki muses.

Aiba shivers involuntarily. “Don’t _say_ that!”

She laughs.

“Maybe she really hated your dancing. Didn’t Masami say she’s a famous ballerina?”

Aiba covers his face with his hands. “Do you really think so?”

“Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be,” Nino says, patting him on the arm. “You spit on her face, after all. Can you imagine telling your kids _that’s_ how you met their mother?”

“I guess,” Aiba replies, and jams his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, let’s go drink.”

_Echo_

…Huh?

“What’s wrong?” Maki asks, noticing his slight pause. “Did you forget something?”  
  
“I don’t think so.” He frowns, glancing all around the room. “Maybe…let me double-check..”  
  
“We’re not going to go find you!” Nino hollers as Maki warns, “Hurry up! It looks like rain!”  
  
How can he hurry when he’s not sure what he’s forgotten in the first place? But he’s positive it’s something…something…  
  
Aiba makes his way back into the hall and searches all over, high and low, for something he’s not sure exists. He’s searching under his table and stops at a crumpled napkin on the floor. When he smoothens it out, he sees, in his scribbled handwriting, a bunch of lines and question marks connecting his name to hers.

And then, in the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of yellow.

A yellow umbrella.

He picks it up with a frown. Who brings an umbrella to a wedding?

“A-ah!”

He glances up and Satomi is in front of him, mouth open in shock.

“Oh…is this yours?” he asks, holding it up to her.

“Y-yes, it is.” She takes it from him. “Thank you.”

Where did you go, he wants to ask. Why did you leave, he wants to ask. But what he asks instead is, “Hey, a bunch of us are going out for more drinks. Do you want to come with? Actually, Masami’s coming, too, I think. But we haven’t seen her for a while…”

“Have you checked the bathroom?”

Aiba blinks. “Huh?”  
  
“Nothing,” She smiles before her smile falters a bit. “But I actually just got a call about an audition I have tomorrow. It’s in the morning, and I’m still a bit jetlagged, so I don’t think I should…”  
  
“Oh.” Aiba deflates, feels the wind knocked completely out of him.

“Good night—”

“Hey, how about this. You come out with us and have one drink—just one. It’ll be on the house even, since I apparently have a Nino tab.” He bites his bottom lip. “And after we have that one drink, I’ll walk you to wherever you need to go.” He blinks. “Well, unless you’re going somewhere far, in which case we could take a cab and…”  
  
Satomi blinks. “You would do that for me?”  
  
“Yeah,” he says without hesitation.  
  
“Leave your friends to walk an almost complete stranger home?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I…I don’t know,” Aiba replies truthfully, but when he looks at her, he feels like he can see the world stretching on for eternity, and he swears he can hear the sound of rushing waves. “But I think I might regret it if I didn’t.”  
  
She shoots him an uncertain smile. “One drink?”  
  
“One drink.”

“And you won’t spit it on me?”

“And I definitely will not spit it on you.”  
  
“Don’t make me regret it,” she says, finally, eyes shining.  
  
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_Say, what’s that song you’re always singing?_  
_Hmm? Oh, it’s a song I used to know…it was called…hmm…I actually don’t remember…_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
**_Zero (Echo)_**  
“And don’t forget to hand in your career worksheets to your homeroom teacher by the end of the week.” The bell rings, signaling a five-minute break until the next period starts. Nino immediately seats himself on top of Maki’s desk and grins back at Aiba. “Have you given much thought to what you want to be?”

“Didn’t write anything yet, what about you two?” Aiba laughs nervously, inching his sheet away from view.  
  
“Maki-chan and I are going to be con-artists,” Nino beams, slinging an arm around her and shooting Aiba a thumbs-up.  
  
Maki rolls her eyes, “And his second choice was for him to be a bartender while I make millions by singing—can you imagine?”  
  
“What did you write, Maki-chan?”  
  
“Maybe a teacher?”  
  
“Ok, so you can teach and I can bartend.”  
  
“Why are you still a bartender?!”  
  
“Ok, how about street magician?”  
  
“Hmm, but lawyers make more money,” Maki says, ignoring Nino. “Maybe lawyer should be number one?”  
  
“If it’s money you want, we should just become idols,” Nino says, nodding seriously.  
  
“Again with the singing?”

“We can act if you prefer. Maybe we’ll get scouted on the way home.”  
  
“Maybe I’ll submit your application to one of those idol factories.”  
  
“You think they make a lot of money? I feel like they probably get ripped off.”  
  
Maki laughs and shakes her head. “Anyway, what did you write, Aiba?”

“I told you I didn’t—”

“Looks like you did,” Nino squints, wrestling the paper from him. It tears in places and gets wrinkled, but Nino prevails, triumphantly holds it up for Maki to see as well.

“One, peafowl farmer. Two, tuna fisherman. Three…fastest man on Earth?! Is this a joke? Tell me you’re you joking.”  
  
Aiba huffs and takes the paper from his grubby little hands.

“Oh my gosh, he’s not joking, Maki-chan!” Nino crows in laughter. “Hey everyone, guess what Aiba Masaki wants to be when he grows up! One—mmph!”

“Shut up!” Aiba hisses, clamping his hand over Nino’s mouth.

“Why does your hand taste like dirt?!” Nino cries, fighting free of it. Maki simply watches them with an amused smile on her face.

“What, like you’re so responsible?” Aiba reports hotly. “You’ve got con-artists and magician and—”  
  
“Buubuu! Read it and weep!”  
  
Aiba squints and reads. “One, famous baseball player. Two, windshield factory heir. Three, there is no three.” Okay then.

“Hey, what’s this scribbled at the bottom of your sheet?” Maki asks, peering over Nino’s shoulder at it.  
  
“Oi, Maki-chan, don’t go digging around my scribbled bottom.”  
  
“Baseball…coach?”  
  
“The great Ninomiya Kazunari wants to teach?!” Aiba asks, pointing at him with glee. “Teachers don’t even make that much money!”

“Hey, keep it down. That was scribbled at the bottom for a reason!”

“What reason?” Maki asks.

“Well…nothing. It’s nothing.”

Maki raises an eyebrow, opens her mouth to retort, but then someone calls her over to ask a student council question. Nino watches her go before glancing back at Aiba.

“Hey, Aiba, can I talk to you for a sec—”

_Briiiiiiing._

The class scrambles to take their seats just as the math teacher walks in.  
  
“Okay class, settle down, settle down, back into your seats. Please take out your algebra textbooks.”  
  
“Talk about what?” Aiba whispers, but before Nino can say anything else, the teacher calls him out.

“Something you want to share with the whole class, Aiba-kun? Ninomiya-kun?”

Aiba thinks it’s really unfair to be called out first, and even more unfair that Maki shakes her head at them both.  
  
“No, sir,” Aiba says, and the teacher nods, turning his back.

_My voice is an echo_

“You’re going home?” Aiba asks when the final bell rings and Maki remains standing by his desk even after the whole class clears out. “Aren’t you going to Nino’s baseball game?”  
  
“I am, I need to switch out what textbooks to bring there.” She grins as they make their way out the back of the school. “Are you going to come this time?”

“Nah, I don’t think so.”

“Ah, that’s right. You don’t really like baseball, huh?”

“Mm, something like that.”

“Ah, maybe I should bring an umbrella, too. It seems like rain,” Maki murmurs, looking up at the sky.

A drop of rain hits Aiba on the head and he blinks, startled. “Hey, Maki-chan, you go ahead. I think I forgot something.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah!” he calls over his shoulder, running to the baseball field.

_Of places I dont know_

It smells like freshly cut grass. Aiba breathes it in and sighs a little, curling his fingers through the chain-linked fence. He watches the baseball team practice in the distance. Someone hits a fly ball and it soars all the way over, landing neatly before Aiba’s feet. Nino runs after it, blinks when he notices Aiba.

“I thought you hated baseball,” Nino says, running up to retrieve the ball. “What’s up?”  
  
“Didn’t you say you wanted to talk to me? I almost forgot.”

“Oh, that,” Nino laughs, shaking his head. “It’s nothing. Just something stupid.”

“No, tell me,” Aiba insists, because it seemed important to Nino.

_And stories I've been told_

Nino tosses the ball into the air and hums. “I think I like Maki-chan.”

Aiba’s eyes grow wide. “You what?!”

“I…think I like Maki-chan,” he repeats, not looking Aiba in the eye.

“You should tell her,” Aiba says at once.

“Huh? But…but what if it doesn’t work out? It’s not like most high school relationships last, and what if we break up and stop being friends and…”

“But what if it does work out?” Aiba presses.

Nino frowns. “But don’t you—?”

_Echo_

“Hey, Nino, do you know what shampoo Maki-chan uses?”

“Huh? Isn’t it that weird tomato shampoo her mom says is good for her hair or something?” Nino says, blinking. “And she also uses that pumpkin conditioner. It’s like her head is like a salad or something…”  
  
Oh. Aiba blinks. “And tomato is a vegetable?”

“Fruit. Aiba, what are you—”

“Hmm, guess I was wrong about that, too,” Aiba muses, shaking his head.

“Have you gone crazy?”

“No,” Aiba laughs. “Say, can you lend me some money?”

“Huh?! I don’t have…”

_We all are connected_

“Lies, you have some in your shoe right now.”

“…How do you know that?”

“Just lend me some, okay?”

“But…” Nino is so bewildered he reaches down into his shoe and fishes out some bills. “What are you going to do with it?”

“I’m going to take the train,” Aiba announces, and runs off with a wave, whatever Nino yells after him swallowed by the wind.

_A lighthouse voyage_

He’s impatient, shakes his leg up and down all throughout the train ride. It’s only a few more stops now, two more stops, too many stops.

He hums under his breath, but only realizes later that he can’t remember where he’s ever heard it before.

_For history’s sake, would you please take notice?_

“Oi!”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry. I meant hi. What are you doing here?”

“This happens to be my favorite spot, and—wait why am I answering?!”  
  
“Why do you look so sad?”  
  
“…I’m going to be a ballerina.”  
  
“That _does_ sound sad.”  
  
“I want to be a ballerina!”  
  
“Oh. Then why are you sad?”  
  
“I…I think I want to be a ballerina.”  
  
“What else would you want to be?”  
  
“A nurse? Maybe?”  
  
“So why not do that?”  
  
“…What if I can’t?”  
  
“What if you can?”  
  
“You’re weird.”

“I’ve been called worse. What’s your name?”

“Satomi. Ishihara Satomi.”

“I’m Aiba Masaki.”

_For history’s sake, would you…_

“Say, Satomi, want to go to a baseball game?”  
  
“H-huh?”

“Syoyo High is having a baseball match right now. My friend Nino’s on the team—he’s short but pretty good. And my friend Maki-chan will be there, probably studying.”  
  
“I don’t…”

“You should come.”

“But I have to make a decision.”

“You have to _now_?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“Why…because I have to.”

“Says who?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“So, baseball?”

“Okay, yeah. Baseball.”

 

 

 

 

_…please take notice?_

 

 

 

 

 

“Have you ever heard the story of Inubosaki lighthouse?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♥ Song titles and lyrics © The Hush Sound.  
> ♥ Words are, even a whole year later, still not enough to thank my best betas and secret keepers Nikki and Reen (and Kei by proxy), for everything they’ve done for this fic and me and all the dastardly surprise hijinks that were had. ILU ALL. Any remaining mistakes were and still all my own because they did everything they could and I still did not make it easy on them. (And any plans for revisions have been thwarted by all the formatting headaches AO3 has been giving me, so apologies forever;;)  
> ♥ This may still and forever be the stupidest, unnecessarily longest, most roundabout way of saying what could be said in three letters alone to my dearest Kami: ILU.


End file.
